


What Makes A Monster

by SleepingTigress



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Rupert Giles, Blood is life, Buffy needs help, Dom/sub Undertones, Episode: s04e10 Hush, Everyone Has Issues, Hurt Buffy Summers, Hurts So Good, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Kinky blood play, Riley Finn Bashing, Slow Burn, Spike is love's bitch, Subtext, Top Spike (BtVS), Vampire Slayer(s), We all know it, Willow Owes Someone Cookies, makes you hard, they all do
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 80,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29291031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepingTigress/pseuds/SleepingTigress
Summary: Beginning in Season 4, after the Events of Hush.Spike sees Buffy being captured by the Initiative. When her friends refuse to believe him and help, he decides it's up to him to rescue the Slayer. After all, it's HIS arch enemy, and nobody gets to take her out but him.
Relationships: Rupert Giles/Ethan Rayne, Spike/Buffy Summers, Tara Maclay/Willow Rosenberg, Xander Harris/Anya Jenkins
Comments: 16
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

The first thing she noticed, before she was even fully conscious, was her Slayer sense going crazy. Demons. So many freaking demons. With the intensity of the tingles running down her spine, it was like standing in the middle of a hornet’s nest. That got her attention enough to pull herself from the groggy stupor. God, she felt like she’d been drugged. Or had a hangover. Or both. It was hard to tell, but her head was splitting and everything else felt like it was weighed down with lead. Except if it was, you know, actual lead, she’d probably be just fine and able to move and possibly throw said lead at whoever had pinned her with it. This was something worse. It was oppressive. 

Her eyes opened, just enough for her to tell that her vision was majorly blurry. Not good, if there really were that many demons that close to her, and when had her senses ever been wrong? Aside from Angel? She tried again to move. Sit up. Push yourself up with your arms. Sit. Up. It was like something was there, holding her down, and she had to fight with everything she had just to move her limbs . 

She managed, barely. The effort it took left her panting for breath as she slumped against the plain white wall behind her . God, she felt... what? Weak? Like a normal human? It wasn't even this bad when she experienced the cruciamentum. At least then she could move, and think, and act. This wasn’t normal. This was nowhere near the realm of normal, or even her specialized corner of the abnormal.

She shook her head, trying to clear it. Like that would work. Whatever had her in this condition wasn’t going to just be shaken off. It was a spell, or a powerful drug, or something. She took deep breaths, trying to push down the nausea. Nothing was trying to kill her yet. Nothing was getting any closer to her. No big angry demon hoard descending on her. Think, Buffy, think. Last thing you remember.

She tried. Before everything was blurry and... She was on patrol, maybe? She remembered Spike, walking through Restfield. Right? He was… She clenched her eyes shut, trying to recall. He'd had a paper bag in his arms. There was a carton of cigarettes poking out of the top of it. She couldn’t remember if he’d said anything to her, or… anything else after seeing him. Just that he looked… sort of panicked to see her. Terrified.

No, there was pain. Blinding freaking pain, and then everything went black. Ow… yeah, even with the lovely perk of fast healing, the muscles in her back were still incredibly tender. She grimaced as she lifted her shirt, trying to look at the damage. On her ribs, two angry circular bruises stood out against her skin. A quick search with her hand revealed two more marks on her lower back that felt the same; small, circular, painful. Kind of crispy.

Well, at least her vision was clearing up and she was starting to feel like she might be able to get her feet under her. She looked around, trying to orient herself. Her brain was still pretty foggy, not quite processing her soundings. Everything was spinning, making her feel even more nauseous. She’d kill for a glass of water and a dark space to sleep it off.

Everything around her was white, and harsh, and strangely sterile. Made worse by the smell of disinfectant and the constant hum coming from the lights. Like a hospital, but not. Because at a hospital, there wasn't a big glass door that prevented you from leaving. At a hospital, you weren't in so much pain you could barely crawl to said door. At a hospital, the door wasn't electrified so that when you leaned against it for support, you got shocked halfway back across your cell.

And at a hospital, your worst enemy didn't pace in an identical cell across the hall from you. 

Spike. Of course it was Spike. Always. Stupid vampire. How had she not noticed him before?. Against that bright white everything, you'd think the big black trench coat would kind of stand out.

She pulled herself back to the door, careful not to actually touch it again, because she was so over the blinding pain at this point. "Spike." God, why was her voice so raspy? "What did you do to me?" Every word came out in a gasp, and she had to take in big lungfuls of air. She felt like she was going to pass out, or be sick, or both.

He stopped pacing, and stared at her. Even with the distance between them, she could practically feel the anger rolling off of him. The death glare and ticking jaw were always dead giveaways. Then he sucked in his cheeks and huffed.

"Said the same thing about you, pet, first time I woke up here."

The first… God, her head wouldn't stop with the pounding. What the hell was he saying?

"Welcome to hell, Slayer."

Not like living on the hellmouth was all that new to her. Wait. The first time… Waking up. Bright lights. Hospital. “Oh, god.” She was in the commando place. Base. Whatever. But… he escaped, right? So she could too. He wasn't great with plans, and if he could wing his way out of there in a blaze of glory, she should have no problem. "What are you doing here?" She asked through gritted teeth. He didn't respond, just bowed his head so she couldn't see his face any more. "Well?"

Spike sighed and rolled his eyes. "Look, you owe me, Slayer. Okay? Satisfied?" He threw his hands up, like that was the end of the discussion. Buffy tried to think what she could possibly owe him. No, it couldn't be...

“You, what? Infiltrated a top secret government run demon prison that’s doing experiments... Because I owe you fifteen bucks? For, what was it? Mental anguish from living with Xander? Are you kidding me?” She wasn’t sure what was making her head hurt more; Spike, or the unrelenting light.

“Well, yeah. That- and you’ve still got my ring, I’m pretty sure, and I want it back. Made of iron. Bloody handy in a fist fight.”

He’s got to be kidding.

“Don’t lie to me, Spike.” She ignored the thing about the ring. Yes, she did have it. In her pocket, last she knew, and hopefully it was still there. But she didn’t exactly want to give it back. It was kind of cool looking. Didn’t fit her right, but still. She had a thing for mementos.

“What reason would I have to lie, B-- Slayer? What do you want me to say?” He was pacing again, like a tiger in one of those tiny cages at the circus. Ready to lash out at whatever it could reach and sink its teeth into.

“So you didn’t get recaptured and thrown back in here?”

He stopped. “Well, yeah, I did. But not until I was already down here. And then I saw-- Look, they caught me off guard, alright? And I couldn’t fight back, so. Here I am, back in rat prison, waiting to be killed or escape. Happy?”

No. She wasn’t happy. Because it didn’t make any sense. Why would he risk getting caught over so little money and a hunk of metal? Why hadn’t he left town the first chance he got? There was obviously something he wasn’t telling her, and she couldn’t beat it out of him, so the point was moot. She’d just have to let it go, for now.

“Not really. But whatever. You don’t want to tell me, fine. Don’t. I don’t care. Just tell me how we get back out.” She winced as she forced herself to stand up fully. Slayers weren’t supposed to lean on walls for support. Or vampires. Bottom line, she needed to get out of there, and… Well it seemed wrong to leave Spike for some reason. Maybe because he was already harmless. Maybe because she'd probably need him to find a way out. She wasn't going to think about it too much. Thinking led to more brain pounding, and it was doing that enough on its own.

“I came down here to bloody rescue you, alright!? There. There’s your truth. And they handed me my arse, threw me back in here, and now I’m stuck. Because of you. God, I’m such a bloody idiot.”

No disagreeing there. “You. Slayer of Slayers. Came to rescue me? Why?”

He stared her down, breathing heavily. “Because, I owed you one, alright?”

She wanted to argue. She wanted to break his stupid nose on his stupid face and make it less perfect than it was. Wouldn’t stick, of course, so she’d just have to break it again. But no, it was not alright. Nothing was alright. She was in a freaking demon prison lab, and her only hope of escape was enlisting the help of William the Bloody.

And no, she realized, her tinglies really weren’t overreacting. There were dozens of other demons, as far as she could see, which wasn’t much. They paced, and hit the glass, or sat, or growled. But there they were, all just as caged as she and Spike were. Or, she was as caged as they were. Like… Like she was one of them. And that didn’t sit well, at all.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, reverbing off the walls. It was creepy, and ominous, and Buffy strained to see exactly who was wearing heels in the place. She wasn't back to full strength yet, and she doubted she could put up too much of a fight if it came down to it.

She really hoped it wouldn't.

She must have been drugged. Definitely drugged. Some kind of really potent hallucinogenic. Because there was absolutely no way Maggie Walsh and Riley Finn were standing there, clipboards in hand, like Nurse Ratched and her crony looking at her like she was a new pet project.

Oh, ew. Walsh looked horrible under the lighting. Like… Skeletor's angry Aunt Karen. Probably not a great idea to mention that at the moment though. Buffy got the feeling that her survival depended partially on not making the evil bitch queen of death hate her more than she already did. 

God, she'd liked Riley, sort of. He was all solid and tall and well mannered. Farm grown Iowa boy. He’d been kind of charming, and polite, and tried to be funny. They’d gone on a date. They’d kissed. Just a normal guy. But then again, maybe not. It was entirely possible that his name wasn't even Riley. Secret identity crap. And all the thinking had her head pounding harder than ever. She squinted, trying her best to get the light out of her eyes without actually closing them.

"Dehydration. That can be a side effect when a powerful sedative is used." Walsh keyed a code into the lock next to the door, and a pack of water dropped to the floor. "Now, I can't saline drip you in there, so that'll have to do for now. There are some painkillers mixed in, for the taser marks. Not that you need them, probably, but we're trying to be civil here."

Civil? This was civil? "What am I doing in here, Walsh? Explain it to me." Despite the confusion and anger, Buffy popped open the pack of water and sucked on it, thankful for the cool liquid. Was that their plan then? Small luxuries? “What are you doing here?” 

She tried to posture, to look tough and ready for a fight. They’d seen her in action. Well, Riley had. There was little doubt he’d given Walsh a detailed report. If she really had to, she could probably kick him in the balls and run. Wouldn't be the first time that tactic worked.

“What I’m doing here is vitally important work in the fight against hostile creatures. Demons, vampires. You get the idea, I’m sure. We capture. We study. We test. We learn. And that knowledge is what will help tip the scale in the fight against them. We call ourselves the Initiative.” She paused a moment, giving Buffy time to take in that knowledge. 

“Right. So, why exactly am I in here? Why study me? I'm the one-"

“Well, simply put, Miss Summers, I have reason to believe that you aren’t entirely human. We don’t know what you are, yet, but we will.”

Buffy was floored. Not - Not human? “Are you freaking blind? Hello. Normal person here.”

“Not in the slightest, on either account. Monsters can look human, like your friend there.” She turned and gestured to Spike, who was glaring at her like he’d like to rip her bony throat out with his teeth - while they were still blunt. At this point, Buffy might even let him.

“Whoa, hold on. We are not friends. We will never be friends. I don’t know -”

“You are an accomplice, though. You assisted in his eluding of my operatives - causing them great bodily injury in the process. You then removed a tracker we had placed on his person, and destroyed it. Government property, I might add. And I can only assume that, as he hasn’t yet starved to death and looks in fairly good health, that you’ve been providing him blood to recover his strength.” Riley bent to her ear and whispered something, too quiet for Buffy to hear. “And we have intelligence that you two were, quite recently, engaged to be married?”

“Hey! That was a spell!" Of course, they'd remind her of that. Why not? Throw it right in her face.

“And I’d be very interested to know who it was that cast it, if that’s the case. However, Hostile Seventeen eluded recapture for weeks, with your assistance. We were only able to locate him when he came here- directly to you. Despite his behavior modification chip, he did manage to put up quite a fight. Nearly had your cell open at one point. So I have every reason to believe that the two of you have an established relationship that extends beyond any spell that could be cast. Now, as I said before. I don’t know what you are, exactly, but I will. You can count on that.” 

Walsh turned on her heel and walked back the way she'd come from, with Riley following after her. He wouldn't even look at Buffy. No apologetic sorry but it's my job face or anything. Just a soldier, blindly following orders. If he’d think for half a second, or try to reason with Walsh, maybe they’d figure out what was right in front of them.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to roundhouse kick her way through the stupid shocky glass and throttle Walsh, then Riley. No way did he not just tell the death bitch about their run in outside the wedding dress store. And why the hell would he do that? Was he jealous? Vindictive? Did he really think she belonged here? Experimented on? Treated like… Like a monster. 

A chill ran down her spine at the thought. Spike… he'd been starving just a couple weeks ago. They… hadn't fed him, the whole time they'd had him here. Or if they had, it had been incredibly sparse. They effectively defanged him. Took away his ability to defend himself. 

The thought of them doing that to her… Putting her under, poking and prodding and doing whatever medical procedures they wanted… God, she already felt violated. What if they put a chip in her? Found a way to… what if they already had? She didn't want to think about being defenseless. She didn't want to think about being at their mercy. Or what tests they could possibly want to run on her, or how they planned on doing them. She wanted to go home and curl up in her bed. She wanted hot cocoa with her mom. She wanted to listen to Giles talk about random obscure Slayer things. She wanted to study. 

Anywhere else, anything else. Just not there.

She sunk to the floor, tears stinging her eyes, and wrapped her arms around her knees. She couldn't panic. Panicking only wasted energy, and she needed to conserve. She needed to plan. She needed to get out. She needed to somehow destroy their operation in the process. But all the logic in the world couldn’t stop the wave of desperation and fear, and the first sob nearly choked her. She felt like a lost child, all alone, with nobody to help her. No way to help herself. 

Is this how he’d felt? For the first time in a hundred and twenty odd years. Vulnerable. Weak. Hopeless. Exposed. No longer a killer. No longer able to survive on his own. Begging for help from people he'd just as soon kill. Having nowhere else to turn. And the way they’d treated him… Going from this, to being chained in a bathtub. Mocked. Taunted. God, she’d been so horrible to him. Offering her throat that way. She remembered that look in his eyes. How badly he’d wanted it. How much he was trying to resist, because the alternative was an electric shock to his brain.

At the time, she’d found it funny. The way he begged Giles to make her stop. Having Spike at her mercy. Being able to say whatever she wanted, do whatever she wanted, and he couldn’t do anything about it but glare at her. He’d been starving, and she’d threatened to withhold blood from him. No wonder he hated her so much.

"Spike." She said his name so quietly, she wasn't even sure he'd hear her.

"Look, Slayer. I don't want to hear it right now. Bad enough being stuck in here again. I don't need to hear your high and -"

"I'm sorry."

"-mighty - wait. You're sorry? You?" 

"I didn't… I'm just sorry. Okay?" 

Could have been the sedative still making it hard to think, or whatever pain medication had been in her water. Maybe it was the stress, or the way Walsh talked to her like she was less than human. What they were doing here wasn't right. You kill the demons that are killing the people. You didn’t use them as lab rats. 

"Well that's two words I never thought I'd hear coming out of your mouth. You feeling alright over there?"

"Uh, no. But thanks for asking. I… I just need some time."

She was going to get them out of there. Somehow. She couldn’t leave Spike there. She had to make it up to him somehow. She’d treated him like garbage, and he’d still come in after her. She couldn’t explain it. Why he’d made that decision. Why he even cared. If he even did, really. But for whatever reason, he’d put his life on the line. For her. The least she could do was the same for him. 

“Oh yeah, no. Take all the time you need. Not like the clock is ticking down to when they decide to kill us.” Spike scoffed at her. “You know, I figured you’d be raring to bust out of here. Not sittin’ there and moping about being in a bleeding demon prison. It’s us or them, love. Take your bloody pick, before they shove a chip in your brain, too.”

Okay, I know he’s making sense, but why does he have to be such a jerk about it? I can barely move. He thinks I’m gonna start kicking doors down?

“I-I think they gave me some kind of drugs. How long do those take to wear off usually?” 

“Depends on how much you take, I’d wager.” She looked at him questioningly. She wasn’t taking anything. “Word of advice, Slayer. Don’t let the people holding you hostage make you a drink.”

She glanced at the empty bag on the floor. Walsh had said there were pain killers in it. That was all. But why the hell… I’m so stupid. “Got it. Die of thirst. That gives us, what, three days?”

He nodded. “More or less. You’ve been out for one already. Drink it slow next time. It’s what I had to do to get out of here. Fooled them into thinking I was out. Won’t work again, but at least you’ll be able to move.”

“I, uh… I think I’ll try to get some rest.”

“Yeah, get some kip. Need your strength, Slayer. I’ll-” he stopped and shook his head. ”Just get some rest.”


	2. Chapter 2

Subject: Unknown HST Species

Initial Findings:

HST49, which uses the name Buffy Anne Summers, appears to be human to the untrained eye. This specific HST is an unknown species, and employs an elaborate cover to keep its true identity secret from civilians. It attends a local college, social functions, and appears to maintain basic interpersonal relationships with civilians. What its motives are for this is currently unknown. Operatives have had previous social contact with the subject, and were unaware of its status as an HST. Its ability to blend in with humans is, so far, unmatched by any other species we’ve encountered. There is no weakness or sensitivity to daylight, as with vampires and some other species. Body temperature scans indicate no abnormalities. The only thing noticeable to our operatives was that the creature did not seem to fit in among most normal humans; That it was ‘peculiar’.

First physical contact with the subject occurred during a recapture mission for HST17. Subject disrupted the mission, physically assaulting and overpowering three operatives, aiding in the escape of HST17. The mission was forced to abort at that time. Following the incident, HST17 was tracked via homing device planted on his person. The creature managed to elude operatives for several days, until it sought refuge with HST49. Subject and allies then located and destroyed the homing device, effectively hiding HST17. It is an assumption that the subject then provided HST17 with blood, which aided in the recovery of health and strength. Though unconfirmed at this time, it is believed that HST17 and HST49 are in a physically intimate relationship. It is unknown if this is a case of cross species breeding, or merely a fluke. Speculation is ill advised at this time.

Subject’s identity remained unknown until a recent incident involving several demons, known as The Gentleman. (Separate report available) During this time, the subject was witnessed engaging other demons physically, though the reason is an item for debate. It may have been a territorial battle, or that the creatures’ presence threatened exposing the subject’s true nature. Regardless, HST49 did succeed in the termination of The Gentleman, as was witnessed by an operative.

Through these encounters with the subject, it was decided that it be brought in for further study. Much remains a mystery at this time. What is known does very little to aid in our understanding of it. HST49 is known to possess enhanced strength, speed, and pain tolerance. It is believed to have advanced healing abilities as well, but that is unconfirmed. Many specifics remain unknown at this time.

HST49 was captured by A Team. Electrical restraints were deployed, but proved less effective than expected. I am recommending increased voltage in the future, if such measures are deemed necessary. Subject is likely to recover from any damage caused. Heavy sedation measures were implemented for transfer. Subject was delivered to Initiative base at 0115, in stable condition. Vitals were taken and recorded at time of arrival. Pulse was slow, likely due to sedation. Subject recovered consciousness in much less time than expected, which will be taken into consideration in the future. 

Development of a testing system is currently in progress. The subject will remain in a state of mild sedation until such time that the system is completed, to prevent any incidents. I suggest a low starting dose, administered through a hydration pack every six hours.

End Initial Report.

She sighed and stretched her arms over her head, reading over what she'd typed up for her superiors. While male and female anatomy were acceptable to be noted on a roster, it was best to stay neutral in official reports. These creatures weren't people. They didn't deserve names, or genders. They were no different from lab rats, except for their lethality. Study and report. That was her job, and she was damn good at it. She caught her mistakes and corrected them. 

Mentioning the name was for reference only. HST49 had an extensive public record, going back more than four years as a resident of Sunnydale. Highschool transcripts, run-ins with authorities. If the higher up deemed it necessary to dig further, they had all the relevant information they needed to do so. Walsh couldn't help but wonder what the motivation was. Why would a subterrestrial waste time blending in so perfectly in human society? Why it would play at human connection. Why, in fact, it would be taking a college course on that very subject. All questions Walsh intended to answer before the subject expired. She'd have to go about studying it in a different way. No species in the books matched the description. Not even close. If they were dealing with something unique, one of a kind, there wouldn't be one to replace it in the future. 

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. She had other matters to attend to, and sitting at her desk contemplating wasn't accomplishing anything. There were new subjects to catalogue. Dossiers to put together. Cross referencing the books for any specific names. Autopsies to read over. She sent the report up the chain of command, saved a copy for her own records, and locked the file. 

No sooner had she stood up to go check on the progress of her experiments, a low rumble caught her attention. Then a sharp jolt knocked her to the ground, and the building began to tremble around her. An earthquake. One of the very few cons to operating underground on the cusp of tectonic plates.

The lights flickered, causing a very rare pit in her stomach. If the power failed, there was that very small chance that the emergency generators would take too long to kick on, or that they’d be too damaged to work at all. She hated those kinds of variables. And as much as she’d tried to prepare for the eventuality, there was always that worry.

As the rumbling grew louder, the laboratory around her dropped into darkness.

She counted the seconds as they passed, waiting. Hoping.

***

Buffy was jarred awake from her half sleep by the sounds of shouting, and a building rumble. She knew exactly what an earthquake on the hellmouth meant. Another apocalypse. It’s not even May yet! Or a Tuesday! I’ve got four more months before I need to worry about saving the world again. How unfair. And how exactly was she supposed to actually DO the word saving when she was locked in a tiny prison cell? God, the government could be so very stupid sometimes. They hadn’t even bothered to ask her who she was, or what she was. They just made the assumption that because she wasn't a normal girl, she was obviously a monster. Ugh.

She forced herself upright and stumbled over to the shocky glass before glancing up and down the hall. A couple of scientists lingered, leaning on the walls for support. Probably praying that the whole building didn’t collapse down on top of them. Which, hey, maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. She just wasn’t exactly keen on being crushed to death along with them and never found. 

The rumbling grew louder, the shaking more violent. Just when she was sure the roof was going to come down, a small miracle - the power grid failed. Sure, she was plunged into the kind of darkness where you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face, but when she fell forward, the door didn’t shock her. It slid open. Then there were hands grabbing her roughly by the shoulders and pulling her forward, out of the cell.

“If you want to get out, now’s the time. Move!” Spike growled. His voice is… he’s vamped out, isn’t he? Then her hand was in his, which was really weird, and he was dragging her through the darkness. 

She’d find herself replaying that moment later. Almost unconsciously. He could have grabbed her arm, her wrist, even just her sleeve, but he’d taken her hand. She knew how Spike’s hands felt, of course she did, but the memory of how his right hand felt when it wrapped around hers and tried to pull her to safety would stay with her for a very long time.

They were only a few paces down the hall when the emergency lights came back on, followed by flashing red and sirens. 

“Oh, bloody hell.”

Well, they were already out of their cells. Why stop now?

“Which way do we go?” she asked, and hated the way her voice trembled. Hated the way her knees were weak. Hated that she was turning to him for guidance. Trusting him to help her. To save her.

He turned to look at her, back in his human face. “Whichever way there aren’t people pointing guns at us.”

“Code Red. I repeat, Code Red. Four hostiles in B Wing. Initiate containment protoc-aaaaaah!”

Buffy watched in horror as the scientist making the call was tackled by another escapee, and she had to fight every urge she had to stop and help him. To slay the attacker. Humans equaled good guys, right? I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. Spike’s grip tightened, and he pulled her forward, past the carnage, trying to get to the door before it slid shut. She had to move faster. She knew that. She should have had no problem keeping up with a vampire, even if he was always slightly faster, but her legs felt like jelly. The good jelly, with fruit chunks in it, but still jelly.

“Buffy, stop!”

She knew that voice. Somewhere in the back of her head, she recognized it. But she didn’t want to stop. She wanted to leave. She didn’t belong here. She wasn't a demon. She was just a normal girl, with normal friends, who happened to have a not-normal calling. And if Spike was going to help her get out, then that’s who she was listening to.

“Gonna have to slide!” Spike let go of her hand and threw himself to the floor, letting the momentum carry him across the threshold. "Come on!"

She dove, barely making it through. There was a very final clunk as Spike pulled her to her feet and looked frantically to either side. Army guys to the left, so he dragged her to the right. Another door closed, another turn, more army guys.Her heart hammered in her chest, and her lungs burned. She tried to run with Spike, to match his movements and reactions, and carry her own weight, but she felt so weak. Everything took too much effort, and she knew she was slowing him down.

She didn’t dare look behind them. They turned another corner, and she fell to her knees, crying out in frustration that her legs wouldn’t do what she told them. Spike dragged her back up by her elbow before clutching her hand in his again. 

The only thing she could hear was her heaving breath, their feet pounding against the tile, the swishing of leather as it billowed behind him. And all she could think about was how… How she couldn’t hate him after all this. He’d come after her. He’d taken her with him. He’d probably have been long gone by now, if he weren’t trying to drag her to her salvation.

If she weren’t clinging to him like a lifeline.

“Should be a hatch up here!” Spike panted out. 

They rounded another corner, only to find the path blocked by another heavy steel door. The only other option was back the way they came, but... The echoing of footfalls filled Buffy with dread. Going back wasn’t an option. This was it. They’d been herded like cattle, and hadn’t even realized it. 

She found herself pressing against his chest. And his arms closing around her. She wasn’t going to think about that. In such a desperate situation, who would blame her? Who would ever even know about it?

It was Walsh that came around the corner first, her arms crossed and a very satisfied look on her face. Flanking her were no less than twenty soldiers, dressed in protective gear and carrying an intimidating amount of weapons. “Hostile Seventeen. Did you really think you could pull that off twice?” 

He actually laughed. "Yeah. You caught me twice. Seemed only fair to try." He was ready to fight, even though he knew he couldn’t. Credit for stubbornness, or bravery. Or stupidity. All of the above.

“Gates.” Walsh made a hand gesture, and one of the operatives stepped forward. Forrest, Buffy realized. Without hesitation, he raised his weapon, aimed, and fired.

The pain only lasted a few moments, but it dropped her to her knees in a heartbeat. There was a roar, a sharp pinch as the prongs were violently detached from her skin, then the familiar crunching sound of bones shifting. She looked up to Spike, who had… put himself between her and them. He’d let his demon out, she was sure of that. Her gaze shifted to Walsh, to the wall of operatives at her disposal, and back to Spike. What the hell did he think he was doing?

A hulking figure stepped forward, baton raised, and brought it down. Spike raised his arm to block, and the sound of the impact made Buffy’s skin crawl. The bone was almost certainly broken, but he hadn’t uttered a sound. No screams of pain. Nothing. An instant later, a boot connected hard with his ribs, dropping him down to her level. 

“No!” 

She didn’t know why she’d yelled out. It was just Spike. Evil, soulless... defenseless. He couldn’t fight back. It wasn’t right. They didn’t need to do this. All they had to do was… just let them leave. She didn’t notice a second figure stepping forward, eyes focused on her, until Spike growled. He moved again, putting himself back in front of her. The blow intended to knock her unconscious connected with Spike’s head, making his silver hair vibrantly red in an instant. 

He was flat against the ground in front of her, blood pooling around his head. “Spike..?” She couldn’t help but lay her hand on him, to try to roll him over. “Spike?” her voice wavered. Obviously he wasn’t dead, but…

He shrugged her off. “I’m fine, Slayer.” Liar. “Don’t need your pity.” He barely managed to get his feet under him before the next blow came, snapping his head to the side where Buffy could actually look at the damage. Oh, god…

“Stop! Please, just stop.” She was crying. Why was she crying?

Why weren’t they stopping?

They’d descended on Spike. Three of them, taking turns throwing punches and kicks, landing them wherever there happened to be a good target, while everybody else stood there and watched. And all he could do was take it, until they finally decided they were done.

His human face… It would take him weeks to heal from that. Probably months in here. Most of his skin was black, or blue, or red. There was a nasty gash on his lip, another on his cheek. One eye was swollen shut completely, but the other… Why was he looking at her like that? Vampires weren’t supposed to...

“That’s enough, gentleman. I think we’ve made our point. Finn, if you would.” Walsh turned and walked away, and Buffy was filled with hatred for her. This had all just been for their entertainment. It was pointless. Sadistic. Cruel.

She should have been fighting. God, she wanted to. She really did. She knew she could mop the floor with them, if she could just get up. She could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins. All of her instincts screaming in her head, pointing out all the openings and weaknesses and blows she could land. For the first time in her life, she felt the urge to kill something other than a monster, and the thought sickened her. 

Walsh. Riley. She could break them so easily. Make it so they never walked again. Make them pay for what they had done. What they were still doing. And if it weren’t for that damn bag of water full of drugs she’d chugged down, she would have. She had no doubt in her mind.

Spike was harmless thanks to them. And they all knew it, and didn’t care. She couldn’t stop them, the way she was, and it pissed her off even more. It wasn’t a fair fight. It never had been. The soldier boys knew they could never take on anything on their own. So they ganged up, used drugs and electrocution and whatever else they could to get an unfair advantage. They were just a bunch of scared little men, playing at heroes, not even realizing how close to being villains they all were.

They needed to pay. The tranquilizer dart in her thigh barely registered as she took a step toward the closest thing wearing camo. She managed a few more wobbly legged paces before she slumped to the floor, barely conscious, but still aware. Two hands closed firmly on her ankles. She thrashed. She kicked. She twisted and fought as much as she could. The grunts of pain brought a sense of satisfaction, even as she was losing the battle to stay awake. More hands grabbed at her legs, effectively taking away her ability to cause any real damage. She wanted to hurt them. All of them. 

She wanted to make sure Spike was going to be okay. He’d… defended her. For whatever weird, obscure reason, he had. Spike.

He was still awake. Close enough to touch, if she could just reach out for him. Something solid and familiar. Something to hold on to. She wanted him to know… His fingers brushed against hers as she passed, just before she fell into unconsciousness. Her name on his lips had been muffled, barely audible, but there.

Buffy.


	3. Chapter 3

Getting thrown back into his cell had all the reverence of being thrown out of a bar- head first, by a Chirago demon, and he didn’t even have booze to make himself feel better about it. Soldier boys weren’t exactly gentle either. Not that it would have mattered much if they had been, what with all the broken... everything. 

He’d been over it in his head a dozen times already, and he still couldn’t really rationalize it. Any of it. Going after the Slayer. Trying to comfort her. Watching over her while she slept. Putting himself in harm’s way for her. Even if he could blame it on some remnant of Poncy William, it didn’t explain why he cared. Vampire, Slayer. He should have taken her out long ago, but she was just too much fun to dance with. And maybe that’s what it boiled down to. He’d grown accustomed to having that thorn in his side. He liked that particular thorn. It hurt in all the right ways. She kept him on his toes. All his years, he’d never come across somebody who he’d stalemated with. Not like her. Not that many times. So yeah, maybe he dreamed of killing her every day, but he didn’t actually want her dead. 

He really didn’t want somebody else taking that from him, either. 

God, he’d been daft to ever think his plan had even the slightest chance of working out the way he’d imagined it. Though what had he expected, really? It was him and plans, of course it had gone all sixes and sevens. The idea had been to get the Scoobies on board, have Red use a spell to immobilize or incapacitate all the government people, slip in, grab the Slayer, and slip back out. Easy as pie. Except the Scoobies were a bunch of bleeding idiots, and they hadn’t even believed him about seeing Buffy get caught. They all looked at him like he’d grown a second head. Bloody Xander, making a mockery of the whole thing. 

Oh, let me guess. Commando guys, yay tall, two eyes kind of in the middle? And they just, what? Overpowered Buffy and dragged her away to their lair so they could… experiment on her? Nice fantasy, Spike. Except she’s not like you. She’s not a monster.

Like hell. Military types were always the same. Follow orders, don’t ask questions. Boss said jump, you didn’t bloody well ask how high. You just started jumping. Walsh, she was smart. But not smart enough to see what was right in front of her face. All she’d have had to do was ask the Slayer what she was, and she would have had her answer. All this? Entirely pointless, other than pleasure seeking. If they wanted to know the weaknesses of demons, they could have learned that from the Slayer, too. 

And Xander wanted to talk about who was and wasn’t a monster? Take a look in the bloody mirror. Wanker. Demons, they had an excuse to be bad. With the no soul having, everything was pretty much morally grey unless the demon decided it wasn’t. Personal code and whatnot. Some of them weren’t all that bad when it came right down to it. But humans. Now those were the real pieces of work. They knew right from wrong. No real question about that. But some of them really just didn’t give a damn. Some of them just liked to do evil things.

Murderers, rapists, and the like. They all had souls. Assumingly, at any rate. Didn’t stop them from doing what they did. Didn’t make them come over all remorseful about it. Souls weren’t what separated monsters from men. It was actions. And while Spike didn’t particularly have an interest in being seen as less monstrous, or being less bad, the chip was forcing him to. Temporarily, at least. Getting in good with the white hats seemed about the best way to keep them directly off his arse about things while still being able to drive them absolutely bat shit crazy. They’d trust him more when he did eventually get the chip out, and make it much easier to pick them off.

But when he’d seen the wanker boys taking down the Slayer, something had gone all… He didn’t even know how to describe it. Just - seeing somebody else touch her, hurt her, drag her limp body away the way that they did. His first instinct had been to go rip their throats out, untie the bint, and - well. Not let them have their meaty hands all over her when she couldn’t defend herself, that was for sure. But the chip was doing little warning sparks for even thinking about it, which was infuriating as hell. And without her righteous little gang of helpers on board, he figured he’d be getting a hell of a lot bigger headache anyway. Either they’d stake him in her absence or accuse him of doing something to her.

So the plan had to change, to this total crapshoot. Sneak in on his own, try to stay undetected in hallways with nothing to dip behind, find the stupid bint, and somehow get her out. Yeah. And why exactly he’d gone through with it? He hadn’t a clue. He shouldn’t have cared, shouldn’t have risked his own life for hers, and shouldn’t have expected things to go any different than they had. There’d been that feeling though. His blood, screaming out to have its will done. And for whatever reason, it willed that he go play hero and save the distressing damsel.

And now, he was back in his holding cell, just as powerless as before, except now he had a bunch of wounds that needed mending. He couldn’t decide what was bruised, cracked, or broken. All the pain just blended together. Soldier boys hadn’t been taught to spare the rod, that was for sure. Or maybe they just enjoyed the carnage as much as any monster, and were too soul having to admit it. That one though- he’d been enjoying it more than the others. Spike could smell it on him. The jealousy. Fear. Rage. Intoxicating little mixture, even when you’re getting your ribs kicked to pieces. 

He still didn’t really know why he’d done it. Why he’d put himself between them and her. Why he’d got his arse kicked to save hers. 

He’d been hoping the Slayer would get her wits about her, stand up, maybe kick the door down. Or rip somebody's arm off and beat the rest of the wankers with it. But no, she’d just cowered there behind him, like some kind of meek, feeble, slip of a girl. He could smell the drugs on her, once they were close. Whatever concoction they’d put in that water pack of hers was potent stuff. He hadn’t realized it until her blood was really pumping. She smelled sickly. She wasn’t in her right state. Honestly, the fact she’d been mostly able to keep up with him for all the running was kind of a miracle. Might’ve been what did them in, actually. Getting that mixture coursing through her whole body all at once instead of letting it just mellow for a few hours until it was out of her system. Nothing different she could have really done, and he was stupid to have hoped for anything else. The white coats were doing their best to keep her as non-lethal as possible, and succeeding. Which really didn’t sit right with him, somewhere deep down. Slayers were supposed to be lethal, that’s what they were for... 

And of course, Spike himself was as harmless as a kitten. They’d seen to that. Couldn’t even trip somebody without getting a zap to his gray matter. That beating he took was just a show of force for them. A show of defiance for him. A lesson he refused to learn. He’d played that game before, for a few decades. He wanted them to know exactly who it was they were dealing with. He wasn’t some fledge, fresh out of the grave. He wasn’t running around killing the first person to cross his path. He only wanted one girl. He was a master in his own right, and... He wasn’t going to just sit there and let them use him as a lab rat. And he wasn’t going to let them do it to her either. Not if he could give her a chance. Not if he could stop it.

Why, exactly, he wasn’t sure yet. Something had stopped him from abandoning her there. When the quake hit and the power failed, he should have just left her to rot with the rest of them and got out on his own. He wasn’t doing any good trapped behind glass. He wasn’t doing any good watching her sleep off the drugs. And why the hell was he even worried about doing good all of a sudden? Useful was a more appropriate word. And he didn’t even care to be that most of the time. Especially not to her. The thing with Angel was supposed to be a one time deal. Temporary truce. Wasn’t supposed to become a habit. But he’d felt it back then, too. That urge to run to her side and help her. He hadn’t, because he had Dru in his arms and he was a bit preoccupied with the thought of shagging his ass out of the Hellmouth and never coming back. How well that had turned out.

He was an idiot. 

Never should have even come down here. Should have just washed my hands of it and been on my way out of SunnyHell. Gone back to LA, or down to Brazil. Found some black market doctor to take the stupid chip out and tracked Dru down, tied her up, and made her love me again. But no, had to go and be bloody possessive of her. Had to come be the hero for some buggered reason.

I haven’t been making attempts on her life for two bleeding years, just to have her snatched out from under me by a bunch of government white coats. She’s mine. My kill. We’ve been doing the dance too long for it to end any other way. The only time she ought to be this defenseless is when she’s dead. Not because she’s been drugged by some skeletal bitch with a tranq gun. And I’ll be damned if I let that glorified hall monitor be the one who chokes the life out of her.

She’s going to die a glorious, bloody death, at the hands of somebody that can best her in combat. And they’re going to have to earn it. I’ll have to earn it.

So he told himself yet again. But that image of her beneath him, throat bared, exposed… Well, it was a heady bouquet. One still fresh in his memory from Red’s spell that had the slayer wriggling in his lap in all the best ways. Something like that, you didn’t have an easy time shutting out. Since then, his fantasies had shifted from violent death to… well, still her death. But he couldn’t help but be curious. Slayers had stamina, strength. God, she could probably go for hours and never get tired. Little nip on the lip, little Spike would be ready again in a heartbeat. Not like he could kill her right then anyway. Not until he found some way to get the chip out. And the next best thing for taking out a frustrating day… happened to be a different kind of rough and tumble.

He shook the thoughts from his mind. Again. He had other things to be concerned about. Plotting a grand escape. Healing. And the sack of half congealed drugged blood wasn’t all that appealing in any sense, but he didn’t have much choice. He’d just have to do what he did the first time around and drink it slowly enough. If he paced himself, whatever sleeping medication they’d added to it wouldn’t even have that much of an effect. At least he wouldn’t be as bruised. Bones, though. Those took longer. The stuff was human, at least, but diluted with whatever medical crap they kept it fresh with. Kind of sweet, too. He could deal with that. Not nearly as good as fresh from the source, but he highly doubted they’d be very forthcoming with that.

He had no clue how long it had been. Without any windows, all he had to go on was his natural sleep rhythm, and that wasn’t much help considering he didn’t stick to the normal vampire routine. He sipped at the blood slowly, not taking more than a little at a time, and waiting for the dazed feeling to pass before he had more. But he was getting antsy. He’d already started pacing back and forth again, like the caged animal they believed him to be. Hurt like hell, too. He was pretty sure he had at least a few minor fractures that weren’t setting quite right. It would probably take even longer now that he was walking on it, but he couldn’t bear to sit still any more. He needed to move.

They still hadn’t brought the Slayer back from wherever the hell they’d whisked her away to, and it had been enough hours for most of his less severe wounds to completely heal. His lip wasn’t as bad, he could almost open his eye again, sort of. His bruises weren’t as tender to the touch. On the packaged blood he was drinking, that wasn’t a great sign for Buffy. Something wasn’t right about it, and the images his brain was drumming up were doing bugger all to calm his nerves. Either they had her strapped down to a table doing whatever they wanted to her unconscious body, or they’d killed her and were busy with an autopsy. 

He bristled just thinking about either scenario. He already knew they were sadistic pricks to demons. Never mind a helpless young woman. The soldiers were bad enough. All they did was bring you in, hand you over. Occasionally kick your everything in if you got out of line. The white coats were worse. They were the ones that put chips into you. The ones that cut you open and played around with your insides. The ones that tinkered with you until they figured out everything they wanted to know. Trying to find the limits of a Slayer? That could take some time. Trying to control one? Even longer. And Buffy - 

Spike was drawn from his thoughts by a commotion down at the end of the hall. Demons reacting to something coming through the door. Spike could smell their excitement, even through the glass. Not that he needed to. They were making it plenty well known: White coats were bringing her back in. Finally. He was over to the door in an instant, ignoring the throbbing in his leg and almost forgetting about the barrier being electrified. He craned his neck, looking as far down the corridor as possible. He’d been almost relieved to know she was coming back in one piece, but something wasn’t quite right. He could smell it, the rich scent of Slayer blood. Thick and potent. When they came into view, he almost wished he hadn’t looked.

Two soldiers were dragging her. Limp and bleeding. Definitely unconscious. God, she looked way too pale under the lights. They could have at least used a gurney. This was just disrespectful. Spike watched them intently as they approached, all of his senses focused on her. Her breathing, her heartbeat. Trying to pick them out over the roars of demons. The closer they got, the easier it became. Weak, sluggish. But steady, and that was something, wasn’t it? She wasn’t dead. Yet.

They stopped in front of her cell, swiped a card, and the door slid open soundlessly. When they tossed her in like trash, Spike’s vision went red. They treated her like she was nothing. Like she hadn’t averted how many apocalypses. Like she didn’t lay her life on the line every single night to keep people like them safe. The floor they threw her on wouldn’t even have existed if it wasn’t for the things she did.

No, to them she was just another thing to study and tinker with. A lab rat. Not a person. Not the One Girl in All the World. She was nothing. They had absolutely no idea what she was. And if they did, that just made it worse. This Slayer was a rarity. She’d made it out of her teen years. She’d killed at least two master vampires. She’d killed Batface, for Christ’s sake. She’d killed her own boyfriend, to save the world. She’d taken down who knew how many vampires on a nightly basis. And she somehow managed to have friends. A family. Bleeding social life. She was going to college. Because she was strong enough to think, maybe, someday, she’d be allowed to have a future that didn’t involve slaying. 

Spike had to admire her, even if he did want to kill her. It would almost be a shame. Almost.

That’s why you had to drug her to take her down, isn’t it? You lot of pansies could never take her in a fight. She’d mop the floor with you. You ought to have a little more respect. What the hell did you do to her? Strap her down and flog her? Did it make you feel all manly? 

The two soldiers turned to look at Spike for a moment, amusement on their faces. “She can tell you when she wakes,” the shorter of the two said. “Well, if she wakes up.” He laughed. Spike watched the vein in his throat, determined that he'd rip it out with his teeth some day. Blunt. No fangs making it quick. They’d all suffer.

It wasn’t until they’d walked away that Spike realized he’d spoken out loud, that he’d shifted into game face, and that his hands were balled so tightly into fists that his nails were digging into his palms. His teeth were cutting into his lip, and he wouldn’t even have noticed if not for the taste of blood.

Calm down. She’s your bleeding enemy. You don’t need to protect her. You don’t need to defend her. You were the idiot who came in here to get her out, and that’s all you need to worry about doing. She’ll be just fine. If you couldn’t kill her, you really think they’ll be able to? She’s still breathing. Look, you can see her breathing. Just look. See? Breathing. Her chest rising and falling...right. Stop looking. Anytime now. Just stop. Stop it, what is wrong with you?! Gotta be this bloody chip. Behavior modification, yeah? All those zaps to my brain can’t be good for me.

Still, as much as he hated to admit it, he felt calmer watching her. Knowing for sure that she definitely was still alive, even if she was weak. So he settled himself in, just a few inches away from the door, thankful her pulse was still within earshot, if he listened intently enough. He wasn’t going to think. Not about why he was feeling so protective. Not about why seeing her hurt bothered him so much. Not why he’d… Not any of it.


	4. Chapter 4

“Here. It’s a smoky quartz, just like you said. I purified it before I came, so we should be all hunky dorey ready to go!” Willow was kind of bouncing on the balls of her feet, obviously excited. Eager. And understandably so. Her best friend was missing, possibly being held captive by a vampire, possibly by the government, and location spells had so far failed. Which was really weird in and of itself. As long as they were done correctly, short of a protection spell, nothing should have interfered. This was the next logical step to finding her. 

Not that Tara had a ton of experience with scrying herself, at least when it came to things like this. Normally she did it more as a form of self awareness. But when Willow had come to her, asking for help, with those eyes… Well, how could she say no? It wasn’t in her to ignore somebody who needed help. And she was more experienced than Willow. Scrying took practice. Years of it, and they didn’t have that kind of time.

"Thank you. I have some salt water, to cleanse it." She didn't miss Willow’s disappointed look. "It's just that, I'll be the one using it, you know? So it's important that there's no residual energy. Ideally, we’d do this tomorrow night, so I could attune it. B-but I know… We’re short on time. I can make this work."

"Oh, no! I totally understand. I was just hoping that we could just... have answers." The forced smile fell a bit and she took a seat on the edge of the bed. "I just hate not knowing where she is, you know?"

Tara nodded. "I do. Why don't you, uh, do some mediation? It'll take me awhile to get everything set up and ready."

She tried to take deep, calming breaths while she went about preparing for the ritual. The sage helped, at least. And having Willow around just made her feel… nice. More confident. She didn’t stutter as much when she spoke to her. She was at ease. Which would be really helpful for something like this. She needed to be open to whatever the powers chose to show her. She couldn’t try to get the answer straight out. It had to go naturally. And for that, she needed to be centered, focused on the goal.

The setting up of the ritual was almost a form of mediation in itself, and it helped make great strides in reaching the trance-like state she was aiming for. Meditation cushion, placed in the center of the room. Her wooden bowl, filled with fresh water, set just in front of it on the floor. Two identical white candles, one on either side of the bowl. A cone of jasmine incense, due north of the water. She lowered herself onto the cushion and took in a long breath before letting it out slowly. She set the quartz into the water, and began.

“I call upon Hecate, Goddess of Wisdom and Guide to Enlightenment. Bless this circle.” She lit her incense in offering before continuing. “May that which is in darkness come to light” She lit each candle in turn, ignoring the shakiness of her own hand. Calm. Open. “I need to find the way to Buffy Summers.”

The flickering candle light played over the surface of the water, reflected in her crystal. She focused on that point, letting her breathing become even and her eyes grow heavy. She let herself be free to wander, and very gradually, the shadows cast by the light drew her in.

She found herself in a dark fog, with blackness surrounding her no matter which way she turned. She tried to call out, but there was no sound. No wind. She couldn’t even see the ground under her feet. She wouldn’t panic. The vision would come, if she let it.

She walked through the darkness. It didn’t feel malevolent. She had no reason to fear the unknown. Very slowly, things became clearer and began to take shape. Most notably, a big fluffy dog with a curled tail. A soft glow emanated from it, providing very welcome light. It sat there ahead of her, waiting. Watching. Hello, doggy. Are you here to help me? It whuffed at her and rose to its feet before turning and walking into the haze. Tara followed after, watching as images floated by. The haze remained, however, making it nearly impossible to focus on any details.

Red bricks. Greek letters. Evergreen trees. Gray cable knit? 

Metal? I’m falling down. A long way down. A shaft?

The darkness was replaced suddenly with light so harshly bright that Tara had to squint against it to see anything. The dog padded ahead of her, and the room shifted under her feet. She lurched forward and stepped into… A hallway? At least her sight here was mostly clear. She had to be getting close. 

There were doors upon doors made of glass as far as she could see, all identical. She walked down the corridor, unsure if she was actually making any progress or if it just went on forever. Ghostly figures paced behind the doors. Details remained shrouded, but they all seemed more or less humanoid in shape. Some bigger, some shorter. One definitely had horns. On it went, until her guide dog stopped and sat in front of one particular door. Inside, the figure was crystal clear.

Black leather coat that hung near the floor. Bleached blond hair. Vibrant blue eyes.

Slayer…

She could hear his voice somehow, through the dead silence. British, she thought. That would be an important detail, probably. But where was Buffy? Why had the guide led her here, to this man? Where was this? Underground, somewhere, where there was enough space for all… this. 

Are you okay?

The vision was melting, the walls oozing down in a very disturbing way. Like blood running from the ceiling to the floor, but black. She had to be close. She had to be. Tara spun in circles, trying to see Buffy, but it was too late. The darkness was eating everything, blocking out the vision. The big friendly guide dog was gone. Buffy. I need to find Buffy. She tried to regain her focus, to bring the images back.

Then she was back in her room. The candles had burned down almost to the carpet, and she quickly blew them out. Willow knelt down in front of her, concern written on her features. Tara let out a sigh. She’d failed, hadn’t she? She’d been so close, and at the last moment, she’d let go of her focus. All that time and effort, wasted.

“What did you see? Did you find her?” Her hand. It had come to rest on Tara’s own, and wasn’t that kind of nice in a way? 

She shook her head. “No, but… I got really close. There was a-a man there. He was dressed in all black, big leather coat, ble-”

“Bleached hair. I was afraid of that.” She worried her lip between her teeth and paced for a few moments before coming to a sudden stop. “Tara, I know that you’re not like, super social, and everything. And I-I know that Buffy isn’t your friend. And this isn’t your problem, at all. I know that. But could you maybe, possibly, come and meet some people that can help us with this?”

Her eyes were so expectant, pleading. As uncomfortable as Tara was around new people, something was different. She was still nervous. And it was so sudden. But… Willow was such a pure person. Kind, and understanding, and gentle, and full of love. To think she’d surround herself with people that were cruel or heartless… It would be foolish. Whoever it was Willow wanted her to meet, they were probably like her. And it would be a good thing to know them.

“I’m free tomorrow, after classes.” She smiled softly, and Willow’s eyes lit up with joy. However nervous she would be, seeing that… It was worth it.

***

When was the last time she could remember being in pain like this? When she’d fought Faith? Or when she’d stopped Angel from awakening Acathla? Maybe when she’d actually died. That was probably the one that took the cake. Well, being dead wasn’t the part that hurt. It was the dying. And at that moment, Buffy almost wished they’d just do it already. What they were putting her through was nothing short of torture.

Walsh stood over her, a cold smile plastered on her face. “I’d like to introduce you to our head scientist here at the Initiative, Doctor Engleman. He’ll be the one performing your procedure today, so that we can begin to study you properly. Understand, Miss Summers, this is nothing personal. We are all scientists here. This is our job.” The way she said it certainly seemed impersonal, though maybe that was the way she looked at Buffy with no emotion in her eyes. Everything was impersonal, when she didn’t view you as a person.

The doctor stepped closer and eyed Buffy up and down. His eyes were overly large, and the way they took Buffy in made her uncomfortable. More so than the fact that she was strapped to an operating table, and that said a lot. 

“This,” he said, gesturing to a tiny chip held between his fingers, “is a vital statistics monitor. One of a few I’ll be implanting today. This one will be going in your chest, right next to your heart. It will monitor your heart rate, your oxygen level. This one,” he held up a smaller, tubular object, “will be monitoring different hormonal levels. Now, I don’t normally allow my subjects to be awake during these procedures. They tend to be quite volatile, you understand. However, you’ve been in a state of sedation for six days now. I don’t think you’ll put up much of a fuss if we just use a local anaesthetic.”

Slayer… Are you okay?

She could feel everything they were doing. The fabric of her shirt falling away as it was cut down the middle. The sharp pinch of the surgical knife as it cut into her chest. The pressure of the chip being inserted into her muscle tissue. The needle going through her skin as they stitched her up. She couldn’t help but wonder how much anaesthetic they’d actually used, if any. It certainly wasn’t making much of a difference. At least her pain tolerance was high. 

Slayer?

Engleman held up a dart, filled with liquid. “This is a sedative counteragent. Of course, we can’t give it to you in here without you trying to kill us, so you’ll have to be shot with it, once we get you situated for testing.” The gurney Buffy was strapped to was wheeled out of the procedure room and down a hallway. Lights passed overhead in a strangely hypnotic way, bringing Buffy an odd sense of calm. Maybe it was the drugs talking, but… She really, reading wanted to be shot with that counter sedative crap. She wanted to feel like herself again. No more weak muscles and zoned out helplessness. When they stopped moving, Engleman spoke again. “This is our newest testing facility. We do have a place we call The Pit, where most of our hands-on research takes place. However, Walsh thought that it was… well, unsuited for an HST of your caliber, we’ll say. We retrofitted an unused wing, just for your study. You should be so honored.”

“Buffy!” Spike’s voice cut through her thoughts like a knife, making her jump and bringing her back into reality. “You back with me now? Scared me for a minute there.”

She couldn’t say anything. What could she? It didn’t seem right to be scathing to him, which was all she’d ever been. She couldn’t talk to him about what had happened. She couldn’t take comfort in him physically. The panes of glass saw to that. Not that his room temp dead self would offer any comfort anyway, she reminded herself. But he was familiar, at least, and safe for the time being.

She glanced up at him, and wished she hadn’t. Even at a distance, she could see the pity in his eyes. And how pathetic was that? A neutered vampire who couldn’t even punch somebody in self defense, looking down on her with sympathy. His mortal enemy. A person he wanted dead. Guess this is the kind of situation they think about when they say they wouldn’t wish it on their worst enemy, huh?

“You know, Slayer…” Spike spoke quietly, a boyish smile spreading on his lips. “Wouldn’t really have minded ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’. At least you can slow dance to it, yeah? Not like Barry Manilow.” He chuckled a bit, which was a weird sound coming from somebody who’d very recently tried to kill her. “If you’d have picked any of his, I’d have called the whole thing off, spell or no spell.”

“Spike, what are you doing?” The whole idea was just… Buffy couldn’t wrap her head around it. Here she was, stuck in a government-run monster prison, sitting across the hall from her most annoying enemy, and he was talking about their one time would be wedding. 

“Getting you out of your sodding head. What’s it look like? Made you smile for half a second there, didn’t I?” Had he? “Besides, the better condition I can keep you in, the better chance we have of getting out of here. Gotta keep your wits about you, Slayer.”

She couldn’t help but scoot closer to the glass door. Closer to Spike. She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them, curling into herself. Nobody would blame me, right? If I took a little comfort in him? He’s the only thing here I know. I thought I knew Riley. I thought I knew Walsh. But neither of them are who they said they were. At least I know Spike. Evil vampire, wants me dead. Not that hard to remember. And I can deal with that. He’s up front about it. So if he wants to talk about weird things to distract me, why not?

“Can you… do that some more?” she asked quietly, unsure if he'd even hear her. 

“Do what?”

“Talk. Just distract me. Get me out of here for a while.”

She could hear the sigh from across the hall. The rustle of leather as he sat down in a similar position to her own; back against the wall, one knee up with his elbow resting on it. She could imagine a cigarette between his fingers, the smoke curling up in a mesmerizing way. How long had he been in there without one? She didn’t have vices like that. She could imagine what a hindrance that could be right about now.

“Yeah, Slayer. I can do that.” He paused for a long moment before huffing out another breath. “You think your mum’ll make me some hot chocolate when I get you out of here? With the little marshmallows in it?”

“She might,” she said simply. “You could ask her politely. I mean, I’m sure she’d be very thankful, but you know, you can’t forget your manners around her.”

“Don’t I know it. Getting hit by her with an ax once was enough for me.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at that. “I almost forgot about that. Your face was priceless.”

“Summers women. Not to be trifled with.” he chuckled. 

It probably wasn’t the weirdest thing to ever happen to her, although it was definitely up there on the list. Reminiscing with Spike about the first time he tried to kill her. And laughing about it. Stranger things had happened, right?

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something? Should I come back later? You and your vampire boyfriend need some alone time?” Buffy’s eyes shot up, shocked to find Riley standing in front of her door. How the hell she hadn’t noticed his looming self before he spoke was beyond her. “I came down here to see if you needed anything, you know. Some food, maybe. But I can see you’re doing just fine.”

“Riley.” She couldn’t keep the anger out of her voice, and revelled in watching him flinch when he didn’t miss it. “I could use a few things, actually. A new shirt, since your creepy eyed science guy decided to cut this one up. And yeah, food. Water. No drugs in them. Some medical attention. While you’re offering, I mean.” 

All that time hanging out with Cordelia had really improved her sarcasm game over the years, and she finally had a living person to use it on. No death quips for him. Just pure, unadulterated sass. It felt so good to be able to think fast enough to say it.

“I was trying to be nice, Buffy.” he snapped before starting to pace back and forth. 

His gaze never left her, and she was reminded again of the procedure room, and the destruction of her clothing. How incredibly exposed she was here, with nothing to hide her from prying eyes. It fueled the anger she felt rising within.

“Well, you know. You shot me with a tranquilizer dart and took me hostage. I think the time for niceties is a little expired, don’t you?” 

She’d stood up at some point, though she didn’t remember doing it. She still felt wobbly on her feet, but she was sure she could take him in a fight. She’d done it before, in a hallway full of smoke, and it was three on one that time. Good kick to the nuts worked on pretty much all men, right?

“Oy! Soldier boy! Why don’t you quit lookin at her like that?” Riley spun around to face Spike, his hand going to the baton strapped to his waist. “What? You got a thing for vulnerable women? Don’t like em when they can run circles around you? This your big plan? Get her all weak and exposed and then come swooping in with the gifts? Think that’ll make her want you?”

What? Oh, god, ew! It made sense though. For Riley. She hadn’t missed his puppy dog eyed look before all this had happened. But there were no fireworks with him. No spark at all. He was just… Joe Normal, in all the bad ways.

“What do you care if she’s exposed, seventeen? Figured you’d be the first one enjoying that view. Don’t tell me you’ve come down with a conscience.”

“Bloody hell, no. Just got more respect for women than you do, is all. Pretty pathetic, considering you’re the one with a soul.” Spike paused, an amused look on his face. Then she saw it. The glint in his eye. “Besides, you forget that she was my fiance?” 

She almost fell over. Was he really taunting Riley with that? He was slipping his duster off his shoulders, and good lord, why did that make her stomach flip? Then his red shirt was following suit, moving fluidly down his arms in slow motion.The way he stood reminded her of the first time they fought, when he was postured and suggestive and lewd. Her eyes trained on the hem of his t-shirt, and she really could not stop herself from getting a good eyefull when it rode up. She was so distracted by the dips and the bulges and the holy hell that she almost missed what he said next.

“Give her this. Better than whatever paper hospital gown crap you were gonna offer her.” He tossed the shirt at the door before bending down to pick his duster back up and slide it back on in a flourish.

“What the hell is this? You expect me to just open your door? And then hers? I didn’t forget your little escape attempt.” Still, Riley took a few steps towards Spike’s door, his fingers tapping the key card at his waist.

“Right. What exactly are you afraid of? Big bad vampire with a chip in his head’s gonna get the best of you?” He laughed out loud. And really, it was pretty funny. Or it would be, if Spike wasn’t in very real danger. Riley didn't seem the type to be merciful here. “You already beat the hell out of me once today.”

“Back corner, now. Sit there. Don’t move.” Spike put his hands up and sank to the floor, his rueful smile still in place. Riley swiped his key card, barely opened the door, and snatched the black fabric out in a flash before closing the door again. “Buffy. Same to you. You don’t have a mod chip yet. I can’t risk you being up when I open this door. I’m trying to help you.”

She snorted. Yet? Yeah, not happening. I’ll be dead before I let that happen. “So you guys are gonna make it so I what, can’t stop a mugging anymore? Can’t tackle humans to save them? You people are so incredibly stupid. What do you not understand here? I’m the good guy.”

“We don’t know that. We don’t know what you are. Please. Step back and sit down, if you want this shirt.” 

His card was already poised at the lock, ready to be swiped. If she was quick enough, she could roll from the back corner and kick him. She could break his legs so he couldn’t follow them. She could lock him inside so he couldn’t raise the alarm. And considering all those things, a plan started to form in her head. Not one that she could do at that very second, but… 

So she complied. She sat like a good little hostage, and waited for him to lock her back up before grabbing the soft black fabric that was Spike’s shirt and pulling it on. It fit kind of nicely, actually. Not quite her cut, but it didn’t drape off of her like she’d expected. And it smelled surprisingly clean. Huh. Vampires did laundry. Well, Spike did, apparently.

“You said something about food? Tell you what, you feed me something that isn’t laced with sedatives, and I’ll tell you what I am. Deal?” She felt more like herself already. Stronger, now that she had something to look forward to. She’d be out in no time at all, if Riley kept coming down to check up on her.

He nodded at her. “Deal.” He keyed in a code, and a packet of something that resembled stew dropped from the ceiling. “I’m listening. What are you?”

“Slayer, The. Look it up.”


	5. Chapter 5

Tara’s stomach had made a home in her throat, giving her that dreaded feeling that she might throw up at any given moment. The Scoobies, as Willow called them, did seem like nice people, actually. Introductions had gone quickly. There was Xander, Willow’s best friend since kindergarten. His girlfriend Anya, who had been a demon until fairly recently (so please excuse anything she says that’s weird or out of line, she’s still adjusting). Giles, who was British and very kind, and obviously used to these large group meetings. Of course he would be, right? They’d been doing this since highschool. The whole team up against the forces of evil and help Buffy thing, that is. He’d called himself Buffy’s watcher, whatever that was. It sounded pretty important. 

Except now Buffy was the one who needed saving, and Tara was the only one who had any clue as to where she might be, which had her sitting center stage, all eyes on her, everybody waiting for her to speak. She found strength in Willow’s eyes. Borrowed her confidence. After a few deep breaths, she felt almost capable of explaining what she’d seen.

“I d-don’t actually know w-where Buffy is. But she’s underg-ground, somewhere, a-and that guy- Spike- he’s c-close to her. H-he talked to her. I j-just couldn’t s-s-see her.” She took a few breaths, trying to steady her nerves. Her stutter only made it worse to talk in front of people. It made her more self conscious than she already was. Willow smiled at her, and it was enough to keep going. “There’s a brick building. A f-frat house, maybe? I remember g-greek letters, but n-not which ones. Oh, an-nd gray cable knit. Like a-a s-sweater or a-a blanket. That s-seemed im-mportant.”

They all remained quiet, but looked at her expectantly. They were patient, at least, and that was helpful. It was nice, actually. That they were all so understanding. She could see why Willow would hold them near and dear. Good friends were hard to come by. Tara could only hope that, maybe, she’d be counted among them. 

“There’s like, a shaft, or something. I-it goes down a long t-time. Maybe an e-elevator, I think. It s-seems likely. Wherever she is, it’s l-like… it felt like a h-h-h-ospital. But w-with cells. I think there w-were other d-demons there, but I couldn’t s-see them clearly. Except S-Spike.”

She let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding, glad that her part of talking was mostly over. That was just about everything she could remember from the vision. The minor details didn’t seem super important. She didn’t want to tell them that Buffy was probably locked up the same way Spike had been. They could figure that out for themselves.

“This is incredibly unsettling. I had thought Spike might have been exaggerating about the commandos but… It would seem he was… not.” Giles sank into the armchair and carefully removed his glasses. “That is our most likely scenario, is it not?” 

It hadn’t taken him long to figure that out, and he didn’t mince words about it either. Tara was kind of glad for that. It probably wasn’t any easier for him to say it out loud than it would have been for Tara, but… It probably wasn’t his first time with it, she realized. 

Willow and Xander both nodded in response. “That makes this way more complicated. How are we supposed to bust her out of a military base? I mean, I could do a spell, Xander has the know how, but we don’t even know where it is.” The worry in Willow’s voice was evident, and made Tara’s chest constrict more than it already had.

“Well, they’re below campus, right?” Anya piped in. “That’s what all your spells kept saying, and Tara pretty much confirmed that. We just don’t know how to get in. That’s the real issue.”

Giles nodded, now polishing his glasses. “It is entirely possible that there are perhaps some people on campus that are involved in this operation. Undercover agents. It would have to be somebody with an incredible amount of pull here. Do we have any suspects at all?”

The ‘gang’ seemed at a loss at the question. You never suspect anybody of anything, until suddenly everybody is suspicious. 

“It could be anybody…” Tara said quietly, speaking what everybody else had to have been thinking. She was trying to think of anybody that seemed particularly militaristic, and nobody came to mind. Whoever they were, they have the whole civilian look down to a tee.

“Well, not anybody.” All eyes turned to Anya. “What? Frat house? It’s gotta be one of the ones on campus, right? You wouldn’t hide a secret entrance miles away. Not a main one, anyway. So we can start with that.” 

Xander looked incredibly proud of her, and he really should have. She was sharp as a tack, despite knowing very little about being a human. She did make a good point. That narrowed their list of suspicious people down pretty significantly. Yay, frat boys. Military frat boys. An excellent combination.

“But how do we start with that? I mean, we can’t just start like, stalking frat houses and hoping we see something that clicks.” Willow paused a moment, considering her words. “Yes we can. Tara and I can! We’re students here. We have every reason to go to parties. Tara?”

Tara paled. She’d barely managed the courage to go to that wicca meeting. Parties at frat houses? “O-oh, I don’t know, Willow. I’m n-not, I mean… I don’t really…” The idea of going to a loud, crowded party, looking for suspicious people, and trying not to look suspicious herself… It was daunting. She couldn’t mingle at parties on her best days. She wasn't a party girl. She was a stay at home girl.

“I know. I know! I just thought, you know, I don’t want to go alone.” She smiled weakly, and Tara couldn’t help herself. She didn’t want to push things, but she didn’t want to pull away either. She felt a connection to Willow. Something powerful. Willow made her feel… So many things. Braver. Stronger. More like her own person. Like she had finally found somebody who really saw her. It was special, and profound, and made it incredibly hard to say no to her. She wanted to help. She really did. Even if it made her go far outside her comfort zone.

“I could try? I- I’m the one who saw what we’re looking for, right? So, I should b-be looking.” It made the most sense. She’d done the scrying, she knew the general size and shape of things. And she could always do it again, she reminded herself. Try to get a clearer bead on what kind of operation they were dealing with, maybe some faces, or an actual entrance. A weak point would be incredibly helpful, and probably too much to hope for. 

“Yes, that’s all well and good. We need to consider what we’re going to do if and when we manage to find a way in, and identify suspects as such. Are we intending to- to kidnap military personnel? And if so, how exactly are we doing that?” Giles was nursing a scotch on the rocks. The poor man. It was obvious by the way he looked that he was probably more worried than anybody else in the room.

“Well, I can think of a few things we could do to them. Ex vengeance demon here. Not lacking with the ideas.” Anya said frankly. Tara kind of liked that. She owned what she was, and didn’t make apologies for it. “I mean, evisceration comes to mind.” Oh, ew. That part wasn’t so pleasant to imagine.

“I think perhaps, for now, our focus would be better spent on discovering the identities of our enemies. We can’t just go throwing vengeance spells, or any spells for that matter, around in the dark. We can’t risk… hitting the wrong target, as it were.” He finished the sentence quietly, obviously disturbed.

“Well, there’s a party at Lowell House later this week. Riley invited us to it, before she went missing. Tara and I can start there. And in the meantime, we can start researching spells that would be useful, in the getting back of Buffy. Between us and Anya, I’m sure we can come up with something helpful.”

Tara still felt uneasy about the whole thing. Taking on an entire military operation was… Well, her comfort zone wasn’t all the big to begin with, but this was way out of her depth. Still, Buffy meant a lot to them, and she didn’t deserve to be there. Really, no creature deserved the things that were probably going on there, demon or not. Evil was a matter of perspective. And not all demons were that way… Tara knew that, personally. She was scared, for everybody. But the operation needed to be stopped, somehow, and she wanted to do what she could to make a difference. To get Buffy home safely to her mom. To get Spike out safely, too. He was harmless, from what she understood. He’d been in there before. And now, he was back in there… to help somebody he’d wanted to kill. And if that wasn’t proof enough of the nature of the beast, what was? He didn’t want them doing… whatever it was, to his most hated enemy.

“Very good, Willow. I suppose… It will probably fall to me to notify Joyce, then?” Giles let out a sigh. “I’ll need more scotch for that. I propose we reconvene in two days, to see what progress we’ve made. I suppose I could inquire with the Council, as well. It’s possible they have some knowledge of this operation and what they’re doing here. Maybe they’ll prove useful for once in the entirety of history, but I find that very much in doubt.”

***

Maggie stared at her computer screen, watching the recorded footage in front of her from multiple angles. What she saw was nothing short of amazing. HST49, fresh out of surgery and sedation, was performing far beyond expectations. Far better than any human in peak physical condition. Far better than any of the Initiative soldiers. The Vahrall demon that Finn and his team had captured a few days prior stood very little chance of survival. A shame, but there would be more of its kind eventually. 

She- It, Walsh reminded herself- seemed to be an unstoppable force. When put in a life or death situation, it rose to the challenge. There was clearly muscle memory, honed from an unknowable number of battles similar to the one it found itself engaged in. Blocking came as second nature. Counter attacks staggered the opponent. When knocked to the ground, it would either do a leg sweep or a kick to the chest before flipping upright again to deliver what was sure to be a devastating blow. 

At first glance, the match seemed almost even, but there were little tells that HST49 was a predator, playing before a kill. The flurries of punches, the high kicks, the flips. It was all an elaborate show, and Walsh's new favorite subject was a natural at it. It showed remarkable resilience. For every hit received, three were returned. What was more, the vital statistics barely registered a spike above normal. The implication that HST49 was holding back, or not using its full strength because it wasn’t necessary for survival…

Well, Walsh had a few more subjects that could provide more of a challenge, when their study was completed. She was rather interested to see exactly what B- Hostile Forty-Nine was truly capable of. Still, recovery time would be a necessity, if its true power was to be known. Perhaps something more menial, in the meantime. Standard strength and stamina testing, perhaps. For the Vahrall, who now lay lifeless on the floor due to a broken neck, a full autopsy. 

“Professor Walsh.” Riley’s firm voice came from behind her, full of command. And obedience. The perfect tone for a high ranked soldier addressing a superior. “I have an update on Buf…” he sighed quietly. “...Hostile Forty-nine.” 

Walsh spun in her chair, looking up to meet his blue eyes. A hint of unease, but covered with the determination to do his duty. “Is that a fact? Well, by all means, do tell.” She crossed her arms and gave him her full attention. He always preened when she did that.

“Confirmation that there is… or was, an established relationship with Hostile Seventeen. Spell or not, Seventeen confirmed that they were in fact engaged. It’s unclear if they still are at this point.” He paused, waiting for her go-ahead to continue. She nodded it to him, intently interested in everything he’d been able to discover while carrying out his task. “After some… careful negotiation for a new shirt, she did reveal her true nature.” He paused again, his brow furrowing in a way that made Walsh think he didn’t want to say what he was thinking. She gave him a few moments, knowing that he could never keep anything from her for very long. “She said that she was… Well, The Slayer.”

“Is that a fact?” She asked crisply, suddenly very interested in pursuing the information further. “Not a myth then, is it?” If it was true, then the world’s greatest weapon was sitting in a containment cell, ready to be harnessed. A tool to be utilized to its fullest capabilities. Maggie could hardly contain her excitement.

“That remains to be seen, Ma’am. It could be that she’s lying, or trying to buy herself some time. Up until this, we’ve had no real concrete evidence that a Slayer even exists. Like the boogey man for demons. A cautionary tale.” He shuffled on his feet, obviously uncomfortable with the discussion. 

“And if she’s not? Riley, this is everything we’ve been working toward. If we can get her on our side...” She could only hope that something like that was even possible. It wouldn’t be a pleasant process, for anybody involved. But it was for the greater good. 

Walsh’s mind was already racing with the possibilities of having her own personal Slayer in the ranks. Something like that… with the right training, and the right combination of performance enhancers. Forty-Nine could become an unmatched weapon, entirely under her control. Entirely self sufficient, able to infiltrate and blend in, and wreak as much havoc as Walsh ordered. She’d have to talk to Engelman about developing a new behavior modification chip, specifically for her new favorite subject.

“I understand. I’ll do what I can to persuade her, but I think our chances are pretty damaged at this point. Maybe, in this case, kindness would be more pertinent?” Was that… hope in his voice? 

“You’ll be pivotal in bringing her to our side, Riley. I’m going to be running some tests on her later today, once she’s had some time to recuperate and regain some of her strength. I want you to participate in these tests as a standard. And if conversations happen that should… lead her to trust you more, that would be an added bonus.”

He looked unsure of himself, but nodded. “I’ll go prepare.” He turned on his heel, not bothering with a salute. 

She knew he had a lot on his mind, but she couldn’t be troubled with that. She had research to do, and a lot of it before they got much further into their testing. Riley was a good soldier, but his emotional attachment to the subject could prove troublesome. She could tell his heart wasn’t in this one. And she needed it to be. Disconnecting a human attachment wasn’t something easily done. Not without a catalyst. 

He’d need to be shown, somehow, that the thing he knew as Buffy was no better than any other monster they’d encountered. No human would latch on to a soulless creature like that. Riley needed to understand. HSTs didn’t know love, or kindness, or sympathy. It wasn’t in their nature. They only knew violence and destruction. And that was exactly where Forty-nine would lead him, if Walsh didn’t nip his feelings in the bud. How to go about it, though? The relationship with the vampire could be a good starting point for that. 

Seventeen was certainly a lively specimen, as far as they went. With the behavior modification chip, and further testing and experimentation, he could prove to be very useful. Her soldiers were strong, but even with their extensive training and cocktail of performance boosters, they weren’t comparable. Vampires possessed night vision, advanced healing capabilities, super strength that far exceeded that of any human. They were agile, vicious killing machines. Their weapons came built in. And, with experience and age, they were more than capable of thinking on their feet. They needed blood to survive, and when that was the prize of a killing blow, it made for a highly effective motivator. 

Forty-Nine seemed to possess many of those same attributes. Built to kill. A power house in a small, unlikely package. A weapon waiting to be fired. It was clear in the fight against the Vahrall- Buffy had years of honed skill in fighting demons. Moreso, it showed amazing intelligence- far more than any other specimen in their archives. The problem with that level of awareness was that it significantly raised the volatility of experiments. Even if they did install a behavior modification chip, there was no guarantee that Forty-Nine wouldn’t test the limits of it systematically. Which meant they’d have to go about turning it in a different way. Luckily for Walsh, she did happen to have a degree in human psychology, and it shouldn’t be terribly difficult to figure something out that would work. 

***


	6. Chapter 6

He hadn’t got a lick of sleep. Too busy watching over the Slayer while she got as much rest as she needed, which was a lot apparently. Either they’d given her an extra strong dose of drugs, or she really was just that exhausted. Whatever it was, it didn’t bother Spike to stay up the entire night. Vampire, right? 

He’d kept himself entertained. Playing that human-Angel’s reaction over and over again never got old. The way the vein in his forehead bulged out and his face turned all red. Blood close to the surface and easily accessed. Well, hypothetically. And when he got the chip out, Spike intended to find out just how easily the bloke bled. Still, it was a nice fantasy, and a nice visual. He couldn’t help but chuckle a few times, wondering what other things got that idiot worked up.

Obviously, Muscle Boy was interested in Buffy. Enough that the idea of her having a relationship with somebody else- no matter the circumstances of it- got his pulse racing. It was actually kind of funny. That a guy like that really thought he was on the same level as a Slayer. Little boy playing at demon hunter. He had no idea. Even if she ever had given him the time of day, he’d never have been able to keep her. 

He’d only get in her way, hold her back. And Spike had a sneaking suspicion that soldier boy’s masculinity was pretty damn fragile. She’d emasculate him (probably without even trying), and he’d have a fit, and he’d leave. He’d never be able to comprehend what she was, and what she did. She breathed death. Lived for it. It was her art, and she made it day in and day out. She didn’t need some wanker to help her or save her from the baddies. 

Something Spike probably should have kept in mind, before he’d thrown himself back into this place. But these guys weren’t normal baddies. No sharp stick to end their existence. And God only knew what they intended to do with her. Pick her apart bit by bit? Stick a chip up in her noggin? Make her one of them? Now there was a frightening thought. Bunch of government idiots trying to control a Slayer. Obviously that was working so well for his fellow Englishmen holed up across the pond.

She was starting to wake up. No movement yet, but he was so tuned into her by now, he could pick up the subtle change in her breathing and heartbeat. He tilted his head and watched her. The even rise and fall of her chest, and the way her brow knitted as she started to come more into consciousness. It was weirdly… kind of mesmerizing. He really needed to stop doing that. Not that he could really help himself. What else was there to do? Watch other demons pacing about? Stare at the fluorescents? Twiddle his thumbs? She was the nicest thing he had to look at in that place, enemy or no. And as much as he hated to admit to himself, she did have a certain allure. 

She was deadly. Full of life and warmth and fire. She could end him in the blink of an eye if he'd let her. Something about that danger had always given him a rush, but now it was different. The kind he didn't want to have. The kind he didn't used to have. Before it was always 'me or her'. A challenge. The fight. Not knowing if he'd come out of it alive. Well, not dust at any rate. He was really starting to miss that feeling, because the new one that was taking hold… it was terrifying. And he knew how wrong it was, to even think about it. 

She was her, and he was him, and the only thing that should ever pass between them was death. Not a burning desire to have his lips on her throat for an entirely different reason. He hated that the notion had even crossed his mind. Moreso, now that it wouldn't leave.

The slayer wasn’t too happy when her eyes cracked open. She let out a groan and rolled over to push herself up. “I was really hoping this was all just a bad dream. God, I need a shower.” He wasn’t going to argue with that. Her normally pristine hair was tangled and beginning to mat in places. She was starting to look almost feral. Not that it was exactly a bad look for her, but… It would take a lot of work to get those golden locks back to the way they were before. And that was if they somehow managed to get out today, which was pretty damn unlikely. 

She didn't have any trouble getting to her feet now, which was a good sign that whatever they'd been pumping her with was finally leaving her system. "Hey! Bill Nye!" She called out into the hall. "What's a girl got to do around here to get a freaking bathroom break?" Oh. That's bloody brilliant.

One of the scientists responded as he strolled to the front of her cell. "Push on the right side of the most left panel on the back wall. There's a toilet that rotates out." 

Her eyebrows shot up. "Really? Well, that's just nifty." 

"Yeah, well. Nobody was real keen on excrement detail, and we didn't want to have to deal with the smell in here, you know." He made a mark on his clipboard and wandered back off nonchalantly, checking on other demons as he went.

She caught Spike's gaze as she pressed on the panel, then looked quickly away. The poor girl. How dehumanizing it must have been for her, to have to try to hide herself from prying eyes when there was no shelter to be found. Spike had that feeling welling back up again. Damned possessive, protective calling. Not that he could do much from across the hall, but… he could at least get her some semblance of privacy. Spike looked at the other demons within eyesight, staring each of them down individually, a low growl emanating from his throat. They all got the message. His Slayer, not for them. One by one, they found something more interesting to look at; the floor, the wall, their hands, until they had all averted their eyes. 

Spike turned away from her, making a point to stare just to the side of the bright light above him. He was a lot of things, but a peeping tom was not one of them. And for whatever reason, he'd make sure nobody else around them was either. He hated getting that feeling. Those thoughts. He cursed the chip once again. If it weren't for that stupid thing, he'd have been at her throat by now, and on his way back to Brazil. Now he was becoming Pavlov's dog. He still very much wanted to sink his teeth into things, but he knew better by now than to think about it. And the less he thought about it…

"Thanks, Spike." The slayer's voice floated over to him, and he huffed a sigh. 

"Don't make a thing of it. You've had enough to deal with in here," he paused, trying to decide if he wanted to turn around and meet her eyes. He decided against it. He already knew they'd be big as moons and make him want to be soft. He wasn't stupid. He knew what helpless ladies brought out in him. Poncy William. And he'd be damned if he acted that way with the Slayer. "How you feeling, pet? Better today?"

Her feet shuffled on the floor, coming just a bit closer. "Hungry as hell, mostly. A little thirsty. But no more weird druggy feeling, so that's of the good," she sighed shakily. Yeah, she might be trying to act tough, but Spike knew better. "What about you? Holding up okay?"

That irritated him for some reason. He didn’t want her concern and pity. She didn’t have any the first time he’d been in here, and the only reason she cared now was that she was in the same boat. She didn’t care about him, or any other demon in this place. She just cared about having somebody to cling to until she got out. Then what? She’d go back to kicking him around and using him as a punching bag. Not that that bothered him, right?

"I'm fine, Slayer," he snapped. 

Maybe it was the hunger, or the fact that his ribs still hadn't set right, or the sleep deprivation. Whatever it was, he wasn't in the mood for her to offer her sympathies to him. He wasn't in the mood for anything but getting the hell out of there and getting down to Willy's for a pint of something fresh. 

"You're all bad moody. You sure you're alright?" Was she... pouting? Certainly sounded like her pouty voice. 

"Listen to me, you stupid bint. I have never been in a good mood with you. We aren’t chums, remember? In case you forgot, I want to rip your throat out with my teeth. Don't think for one second that any of this changes that." 

“Now now, you two. I think that’s quite enough.” Walsh spoke lightly as she approached. 

God, Spike didn’t even want to sink his teeth into her at this point. He wanted to twist her head off and throw it at her little boy assistant that was always flanking her. Riley. He even had a wanker name. 

“Seventeen, you should show a little more concern for your lovely fiance. She’s off for more evaluations today.” She smiled, and it made Spike’s skin crawl. Pretty impressive, for a human.

Buffy’s pulse had picked up. “You really think I’m letting you throw me back in that room with more demons and no weapons? You’ve lost your mind.”

What? That’s what they’d done to her? Thrown her into Thunderdome? No wonder she’d been in such rough shape. But she’d barely had time to recover. They couldn’t really expect her to be ready for more of that. And with no weapons? She’d be killed for sure. Wasn’t hard to get a lucky hit when your opponent was half dead to begin with. It didn’t matter how good she was. His stomach dropped.

“You’re not taking her off to kill her. Over my dead body.” He let the bones in his face shift, brought his fangs out. If he had to take another beating for her, he would. But she was not dying today. Not by their hands.

“If I’m not mistaken, your body is already dead. There’s just a pilot in there that keeps it moving." She smiled coldly at him before addressing the Slayer. "I think we may have got off on the wrong foot here, Buffy-"

"Oh really? And what would possibly make you think that?"

There's my girl. She was definitely back to herself. No hesitation to be sarcastic, standing her ground. Like a Slayer should.

"You have to understand our position here. From what I've been told, you are what's known as a Slayer? We thought you were a myth. If we'd had any inclination of your true identity when we brought you in-"

"Did ya think to ask me? Maybe look in a book? Ask any demon in here, they'll tell you exactly what I am. And I can guarantee, they're more afraid of me than they are of you. So go ahead, Walsh. Run all the tests you want, and you still won't know what I am, or what I can do." 

Buffy glared at the old bitch, fire dancing in her eyes. God, she was furious, and that face of wrath was really something to behold. He reigned his demon in, letting his human face come back. He didn't need to defend her, he reminded himself once again. He wouldn't be able to even if he tried. 

Walsh cleared her throat, clearly not used to being interrupted. "I'm trying to extend an olive branch here. You don't have to be locked up here with these creatures. You can come with us, peacefully. Join our cause. Be a part of something greater."

Buffy grinned. Not the happy-yay-I'm-not-a-prisoner-anymore kind of a grin either. It was the kind you gave somebody right before you took their life. Very slowly, she raised a fist, then her middle finger. 

"Extend this, bitch."

***

Worth it. Push, relax. Push, relax. The shoulder presses were actually kind of a welcome task. Mindless, repetitive. After getting hit with that stupid taser yet again, the exercise took the ache off. Got her muscles back to doing what they were supposed to, and not being seized up. She’d done so many different reps at this point, they were all starting to blend together. Whatever ‘evaluation’ Walsh was doing with the gym routine, Buffy didn’t exactly care. They wanted to know how strong she was? How much she could lift? How hard she could hit? The only way she was ever letting that on was when she could eventually show them all first hand. She wouldn’t bother holding back then.

Riley mirrored her actions on the other side of the glass. He was a control subject, Walsh had said. So they, what, wanted to see if she was stronger than him? If he was their best operative, Buffy wasn’t impressed. He was covered in sweat, and straining and making disgusting guttural sounds. Ugh. I can’t believe I almost dated him! It made her stomach turn to even think about it now. Would he ever have told her? Would he have lied to her the entire time about it? Would he still have gone along with taking her prisoner? 

"You know," Riley panted between presses, "we don't have to be enemies. We can help each other." 

Yeah, right. She had all the help she'd ever need. Her friends, Giles, her mom. Even Spike, sometimes. She'd rather call a truce with the guy who'd tried to kill pretty much everybody in her circle at least once before shaking hands with the Initiative. She wasn't an operative. She didn't want to be one, and she certainly didn't want to be their lab rat.

"You know something, Riley?" She asked, not panting and not sweating. "I really think we do. The whole being enemies thing, that is," she added, just in case all his disgusting grunting kept him from fully following the conversation.

"Buffy, come on. This -" he took a heaving breath, "this was all just a huge misunderstanding. At least hear Walsh out. You might change your mind about us." 

He'd stopped doing the presses and was watching Buffy with a pleading look in his eyes. She didn't stop. She wanted him to see that she was stronger than he was. She wanted him to know that she was absolutely not struggling with this work out crap. She glared at him through the glass, rage building inside her.

"I will never change my mind about you. You kidnapped me. You shot me with a taser. You've kept me drugged and docile as a kitten. You let that creepy ass scientist cut my shirt off me! And then you got offended when a vampire offered me the shirt off his back."

"That's not-"

"Don't interrupt me!" She jumped to her feet, the anger she hurt finally bubbling over. "This entire operation is despicable. You. Walsh. Graham and Forrest too, I'm guessing? You're all disgusting. And you know what the real kicker is?"

She tilted her head, staring at Riley through the glass divider. He took a few steps forward. Very stupid, naive steps. She imagined kicking a nice big hole in that glass, stepping through, and giving him a good throttling before his buddies busted in and saved him.

"Spike has been trying to kill me for three years," she spoke quietly, beckoning Riley to close that last bit of distance. "He's kidnapped my friends. Almost killed Giles. Then you guys happened."

"He can't kill you now." He was trying to sound reassuring, she could tell. Like somehow, Spike not being able to kill her erased everything else they were doing.

"Spike couldn't kill me before, but that's not the point. He and I? We want each other dead. That's the way it's been since the night we met. Thanks to you guys, we're on the same side now."

Riley scoffed. "Yeah, right. That's why you two were arguing when Walsh and I came to get you. That's why you said that thing about you two not being friends. Right? Being on the same side and all."

“We’re not friends. If it weren’t for you idiots, I would have killed him when he came back here. But you went and made him all harmless, and it generally goes against my code of ethics to hit something that can’t hit me back.” Well, maybe not to hit him. She’d still do that. But she wouldn’t kill him.

“If he can’t hit you, that makes you human, right?”

She really could not believe it took that to make Riley understand that she wasn’t a freaking demon. Was he an actual neanderthal? Whatever. This whole conversation is just ridiculous. He’s trying to get under my skin, get me to go to the dark side, and that’s not happening. And really, kind of getting tired of the whole grunt routine in here.

“Look, I’m tired. Can we just focus on whatever the hell it is we’re supposed to be doing here so we can get it done faster? Because no offense-” You know what, screw him and his feelings. “Actually, no, totally ALL of the offense intended. The smell of your sweat is coming through these little breathing holes, louder than your voice is. And let me tell you- it’s freaking rank. So the sooner I can get out of this room and back to my cell, the better. At least the neighbors there don’t smell as bad.”

Either literally or metaphorically. She didn’t say that part, but he seemed to get the subtext. His face screwed up in all the disgruntled rage he could muster before he threw his hands up and walked away. He stormed through his conveniently unlocked exit, slamming the door behind him. Must’ve made him feel masculine or something. Why did men always want to slam doors anyway? 

She waited, seemingly for an eternity, before somebody came to take her back to her cell. Graham, thankfully. He at least seemed level headed. More so than the others, at any rate. He didn’t shoot first. He let her walk freely, mostly. As free as one could be with a taser gun pressed against their spine. She could have taken the opportunity to make a run for it, and she wasn’t sure why she didn’t. Maybe because she wasn’t sure where the exit was. An elbow to the temple, grab the taser and use it on whoever tried to stop her. It would have been really simple. Punch and run. 

Maybe if she kept acting agreeable, he’d eventually let his guard down and she really could escape, with Spike in tow. He hadn’t left her, so how could she leave him? Even if he was a bipolar vampire. 

And what had all that been about earlier? He’d been almost nice, until she asked if he was okay. Was that it? He didn’t want her to be worried about him? How could she not be? Whatever crap they were feeding him wasn’t very helpful. It wasn’t healing his wounds like it should have been. Most of his bruises were healed, but his lip was still split. There was still the nasty gash in his forehead. He was starting to get pale and thin and sick looking. A lot like he had when he’d come to her for help.

Buffy had been so lost in thought, it barely registered that they’d arrived back in the containment area. She could feel the demons’ eyes on her as they walked, watching her hungrily. She stepped in front of her empty cell, waiting to be let back in. The taser left her back, and she expected the door to slide open. But it didn’t.

“No,” Graham spoke from a few feet away, drawing Buffy’s eyes to him. “Walsh wants you over here.”

She looked at where he was indicating, and her stomach flipped. He stood with his gun pointed at Spike, key card ready to open the door. To Spike’s cell. He was putting her in Spike’s cell. With Spike still in it. What the hell was this? A punishment for giving Walsh the finger? Or telling Riley that he smelled like a locker room?

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“Oh, balls.”


	7. Chapter 7

Giles made his way to the graveyard as quickly as he could without breaking into a run. At his age, sprinting was avoided if at all possible. He wasn't the spring chicken any more. He could only hope that his fiasco of a day didn’t end in an apocalypse that otherwise would have been thwarted by now if it weren’t for the situation at hand. Asking questions around campus had proven to be less than fruitful. In fact, it had been downright infuriating. Shrugs and head shakes and dope eyed stares were the most common answers he'd got. Nobody knew a thing, couldn’t remember the last time they’d seen her, or who she’d possibly been with or even who she was. Her professors had barely even noticed her extended absence, which was nothing short of disturbing. Just another head in a crowded lecture hall.

And when he’d gone to talk to her psychology professor, well. It certainly wasn’t a conversation he’d ever envisioned having. Maggie Walsh was quite possibly the most condescending person he'd ever had the displeasure of meeting. When asked about Buffy, Walsh replied that she wasn't the first 'brilliant' young mind to mysteriously stop showing up one day, and that whatever Buffy was going through was really not her problem. Three absences was considered excessive in her class, and she'd already removed Buffy from her roster. When he'd only been able to look on with horror at her apparent lack of any human emotion, she continued her remarks. She’d gone so far as to suggest that the stress of Buffy’s coursework had become too much. That she was overwhelmed, often flaky, fell asleep during lectures. And that somehow, it was his fault. No strong father figure, indeed. He’d become more of a father figure to Buffy than her own biological parent. He’d mentored her, and guided her into adulthood without bearing witness to her untimely demise.

Maggie Walsh was an insufferable... 

...cunt, Rupert. You know you want to call her a cunt. Yes, he did, and he could admit that to himself. Walsh had shown no concern whatsoever that Buffy was missing, and brushed his concerns off with raised eyebrows. The shrew. He’d very much like for her to have a run in with a demon in a dark alley. Truthfully, it couldn’t be that hard to arrange such an unfortunate accident.

To add to his lovely time canvassing the campus for suspects, he had more pressing matters to deal with. It didn’t help that he’d got lost and was running short on time, he was also on his own. With Willow researching potential spells they could use, and Xander doing… whatever supposedly helpful thing he was doing, Giles was on his own. The earthquake days prior had been the portent of the rise of a very powerful demon prince. And it looked like it was going to be up to him to keep it from happening.

He'd finally made his way to where the prince was supposed to rise, hours before, and found the ground within the crypt undisturbed. No cracks or gaping holes or entrances into hell. Nothing. And that was also strange. Usually there was settled dust. Cobwebs. Refuse from demons making a nest at some point in the past. The fact that the crypt was eerily tidy only added to the feeling that something was off.

Demon activity as a whole had been at a low, which was not what Giles expected, with Buffy not able to patrol for nearly two weeks. No doubt it had something to do with the military operation. Everything to do with it. Perhaps they'd managed to interfere here, somehow. As thankful as he was that he wouldn't be going head to head against a powerful demon with nothing but a duffel bag full of candles, he didn't want to think about why that was, and what it meant for his Slayer.

He dropped the bag to the floor and sunk down onto one of the stone benches. He was trying to stay busy. Trying to keep himself occupied. Trying to keep people safe in her absence. More than anything though, he was trying now to convince himself that they would be successful in their endeavor to retrieve her. Alive. If those military people could subdue the creatures of the night, and stop the rise of Barvain, what else were they capable of?

He had to have faith that they would be able to. Without that… well, he wouldn't have much at all. Tara seemed eager to help, however, and her experience would certainly be of use. Willow had power, and a natural talent, but she'd shown herself to be reckless too many times as it was. This situation had to be dealt with with the utmost care and precision, and he wasn't certain she was up to the task. Having somebody there to help guide her, to keep her focused, could only be a good thing. Especially someone who she appeared to be much more likely to listen to when it came to the arcane.

Something scraped across the floor in a darkened corner of the crypt, jolting Giles into alertness. He'd been quite sure that he was alone, but it appeared he was mistaken. Something was there. Things didn't just make noise of their own accord. Not usually.

He unzipped the duffel bag at his feet and grabbed the first solid thing his fingers landed on - a silver ceremonial dagger. He gripped it tightly in his left hand, the back of the blade aligning with his forearm, ready to attack or defend. Whatever it was hiding in the darkness, it wasn't going to get away without losing some blood. He rose from the bench slowly, preparing himself for the fight.

"Let's get on with it then. I'm afraid I'm running rather short on patience." 

A chillingly familiar voice responded from the shadows, full of the kind of arrogance only achieved after decades of using nefarious means to get what he wanted. 

"Weapons? Is that any way to greet an old friend, Ripper?" 

Ethan Raine, the smarmy git, stepped into the light in what he probably thought was a truly dramatic reveal. It only made Giles want to put the knife to use even more. His metaphorical plate was plenty full as it was, and he didn't need Ethan piling his tacky self on top with his annual visit. 

"Ethan. The perfect end to the perfect day. What do you want?"

"Thought I'd stop in for a drink. Stay for the atmosphere. Although I must say," he glanced at the blade, lifting his eyebrows, "not exactly inviting at the moment."

Giles lunged, the thread he'd been hanging on finally snapping. Ethan tried, and failed, to run. He was on the ground, straddled, with a knife pressed to his throat before he really had time to react. The thrill of it surged through him in a dark wave. The violence he kept caged like a sweet drug finally free.

"I thought I'd made it quite clear the last time. Leave, don't come back. What made you think for a moment that this was a smart idea?"

Ethan's hands were up in surrender, eyes wide with fear. It suited him. If nothing else, Giles could take some small pleasure in relieving the world of him.

“You know, the last time we were in this position it was much more enjoyable. Even then you had a thing for kinky--”

Giles hit him squarely in the nose, hard enough that his head bounced off the concrete floor. And god, did it feel good to let some of his frustration out. On somebody like Ethan Raine, no less. No doubt he was there to stir up trouble like he always was, and Giles was in no mood, with no time to deal with it. He raised his fist to hit him again, and Ethan’s hands flew up in a panic.

"Wait wait wait wait! I have information! You don't even have to beat it out of me this time!"

Giles couldn’t help the smile forming on his lips. One of the worst days he’d had in recent memory, and who should decide to show up out of the blue? His dear old friend and current enemy. Who always had been able to take a beating and keep on ticking.

"I disagree."

***

On the streets of Sunnydale, nothing seemed incredibly suspicious or out of place, which could be useful at times. Vampire sightings were written off as criminals on PCP. Werewolves were big mean dogs with rabies. And there was nothing eldritch about one man dragging another unconscious man by his arms, as far as the community was concerned. Mention something about alcohol, and heads nodded and turned away, happy to no longer be thinking about it. 

For once, Giles had found himself thankful for that committed ignorance.

Once he'd got Ethan back to his flat, he'd been at a loss of what exactly to do about him. There'd been the mention of information, for whatever that was worth. The promise of a satisfying punching bag. Keeping him off the streets and under close watch.

Not that the last bit was at all enjoyable. Ethan would likely drive Giles mad in a short amount of time, simply by talking the way he did. A gag then. Dirty old shirt should do the trick. Surely he'd had worse things shoved in his mouth, and with less care. In fact, he remembered a time when….

Giles shook the thought away. He did still have the chains. He'd put them away in the trunk, but… if they could hold a vampire, they could hold an aging Englishman. If that were the route he was going, he'd have to get it done quickly. Willow and the others were set to arrive shortly, and the last thing he needed was people in the way of him dealing with Ethan. And questions as to why exactly he was there. If he were very lucky, nobody would even notice, and Giles could deal with him later.

The chances of that happening were exceedingly thin.

He went about dragging the somehow still unconscious man to the bathroom and throwing him unceremoniously into the tub. His head cracked against the side in a strangely satisfying way, and Giles had to remind himself that he didn’t actually want Ethan dead- not yet, at least. He needed him alive enough to divulge whatever information he claimed to have, and then he could be thrown out of a moving vehicle miles outside of Sunnydale in the middle of the desert. Whatever happened after that was out of Giles’ control, or concern.

Shackles. Living room. Right.

If he’d known how many times he’d have a man chained in his bathtub, he would have sprung for a flat with a second bathroom. Or a spare bedroom. Not that he wanted Ethan chained to a bed. Not like he used to, at least. The temptation to continue on as they once had done had never fully gone away, as much as he tried to quash it. There had been a point when Ethan had been a good friend. Handsome, athletic, charming. Before the magic had pulled him too far down. Before they’d had their falling out. 

“Tsk, tsk, Ripper. Getting sloppy in your old age.” 

Ethan’s voice came from too close behind him, and Giles threw an elbow while spinning to face him. Ethan stumbled a bit in his retreat, knocking the lamp from the side table. Sloppy, indeed. He should have figured that the unconscious state was a ruse. Ethan always had been a deceptive bastard, and probably always would be.

“Easy there, mate. I already told you, you don’t have to beat the information out of me. Freely given. Scouts honor!”

He dodged as Giles lunged for him, running to the other side of the couch to put space between them. Giles would be damned if he played cat and mouse back and forth around a piece of furniture. 

“Ethan, for god’s sake. I’ve got no time for your games. You can either get back in that bathtub of your own free will and let me chain you up there, or I can put you there by force. You’ve very little choice in where you end up.”

“Ooh, kinky kinky. You’ve got chains here, Rupes? Didn’t know you still had it in you.” 

There was a playful glint in his eyes, one that Giles had seen years earlier in their youth. He ignored it in the most dramatic fashion he could, and flipped the couch in a single move before advancing on the wiry man.

“There he is!” Ethan laughed as he backed into the kitchen. “Oh, you’re serious. What’s the matter? Watcher job got you knickers in a twist?”

Giles grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and yanked him in close. “Come now, Ethan. You know me better than that,” he whispered, a dangerous edge to his voice. Why he was letting himself play along with Ethan’s baited quips, he didn’t know. 

“Oh, yes, how could I forget?” Ethan glanced down between their bodies before meeting Giles’ eyes with his own. “Still going commando, after all these years?”

Something long repressed sparked inside Giles. That aggressively playful hint in Ethan’s voice brought back memories of a time, long ago. Before they hated each other. He dared not entertain the thought. He had much more pressing matters to attend to, and Ethan showing up yet again didn’t change that. It certainly hadn’t changed anything the last three times, and now would be no different. He was still here for his own gain, whatever nefarious purpose he might have. Giles knew that. 

“Oh, Ripper. Look at you argue with yourself in that head of yours. Come on, mate. When’s the last time you let yourself live a little?” 

He leaned into Giles, head tilted just so, a soft smile on his lips. So, that was his game. Giles had suspected as much. He half expected it every time Ethan popped up out of nowhere. Even years later, everything he’d done, and what he’d become. Giles couldn’t help himself. Even if there’s never been any love, at least on Ethan’s part, there was a sentimental attachment to the way they’d been at the beginning. How they’d experimented and discovered and grown together. As much as he tamped it down, it remained.

It took so much self control to shove him back against the counter with real force. The kind that would be necessary to put a stop to it. The sound of the impact brought Giles back to his right mind, for the moment. He couldn’t afford to give in to momentary distractions, no matter how welcomed they would be. He gripped Ethan’s shirt collar and pulled him in, until their faces were just inches apart. 

“You listen to me, you pompous self-serving ass. I don’t have time for this right now. I have far more important things to attend to. I don’t think you need to be reminded that you are entirely unwelcome here.” He landed a vicious punch to Ethan’s solar plexus, knocking him to his knees with a huff of breath. “Just to make sure we are absolutely on the same page, why don’t we start from the top?”

Ethan’s words came in quick breaths. “You always did prefer the top.”

Giles had had enough of the quips and antagonizing. He could feel Ripper swelling up inside him, and for the first time in a long time he welcomed it. This was an interrogation. As much as he tried to be the kind gentleman, that just wasn’t who he was. At the same time, he wasn’t that reckless fool he’d been in his youth. There had to be some kind of middle ground, but he’d never managed to find it. Perhaps he could use this as an opportunity to try again.

“Ethan, I will say this only once, so please pay attention,” Giles spoke with a cold calmness, determined that he would maintain his self control. “I don’t know why you decided to come back here, and quite frankly I don’t care. You will tell me what you know, and once I’ve confirmed the information, you will be released. I highly suggest you take this mercy I’m offering to heart. There will not be a second offer. Do you understand?”

The man in front of him nodded silently. 

“Good. Now, I’m going to render you unconscious as nicely as I can, because I don’t want to clean blood from my carpet. I’m expecting company, so you will remain quiet when you wake up. Do you understand?”

Ethan sighed, but nodded again. Good. It seemed that slipping into his most threatening visage had the desired effect. Ethan was an idiot, but he knew Giles, and he knew when it was time to stop joking and start listening.

“If you do decide to scream, or call for help in any way, you should know, these are not the kind of people who would come to your aid.”

He grabbed Ethan, spinning him and putting him in a headlock. He’d have a terrible headache when he woke up, but at least he wouldn’t be bleeding from a head wound. He struggled, despite knowing the inevitable. He’d be unconscious in less than a minute, and then shackled as Giles had originally intended before this game of cat and mouse had started. As Ethan slumped against him, there was a rapping at his door. 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Giles muttered under his breath. Then, louder, “Give me a few moments, if you’d please.” 

Nothing would go right that day, would it? Of course, it had been a typical Buffy birthday. What would it have been without enemies old and new popping up? He could only hope that Willow and Tara had made some progress and had good news for him. Or that Xander had somehow procured something akin to another rocket launcher.

He dragged Ethan back to the bathroom, fastened the shackles around his wrists and ankles, and let out a sigh. Good Lord, he needed a drink already. The expensive scotch. Hoping the children at the door would be content to impatiently knock on his door for a few moments more, he poured himself a glass, caging away Ripper with each swallow and letting the mild mannered Watcher persona settle over him like an old, familiar coat.


	8. Chapter 8

It was bad enough they’d had to wait out on the doorstep in the cold forever while Giles did whatever the hell it was he’d been doing when they got there. Her fingers had started to go numb, and she was certain that frostbite wasn’t reversible. How was she supposed to use her hands for fun things if half her fingers were frozen off?

When he’d finally opened his door, he was sweaty and smelled like strong whiskey. The couch wasn’t quite how it should have been, she noticed. It was out of place, which was really weird for Giles. Everything had a place. Including him, which should have been out with his guests. Instead, he’d been locked in the bathroom for the last ten minutes while everybody else sat there and twiddled their thumbs awkwardly. 

Nobody was talking, everything was tense for some reason, and Anya couldn’t understand why. The whole thing was very annoying. She’d rather have been hanging out in Xander’s musty basement than sitting on the couch in Giles’ living room. Considering the rather offensive smells down there, that was really saying something. But at least Xander had a television. And a bed. And could give her orgasms. 

But no, she was here. And given how long he’d been in the bathroom, Giles was probably masturbating in there. Getting his own orgasms while denying them to others. Well, maybe not. He seemed a little too reserved for that when he had company.

She was about ready to get up and find that secret stash of his. She had the feeling that when it came to Giles and alcohol, he was not the type to buy from a grocery store. He probably had his imported from England or something. No doubt a glass of it could take the edge off, liven things up, and make everybody a little less boring. 

She was trying really hard to assimilate to her human life. To be a good girlfriend, and get along with her boyfriend’s people. But god, they made it so hard sometimes. Willow was finally over Oz at least, so she wasn’t whining about that all the time. She was moving on. Well, almost. But Anya had seen those sidelined glances and the blushing and the coy smiles going on with Tara. It could only mean one thing. Even if they hadn’t said anything to each other yet. They were probably both too shy to even realize that their feelings were mutual.

Giles finally stepped out of the bathroom and closed the door behind him, still looking like… Well, like he’d had a rough day and he could really benefit from somebody pampering him. She wasn’t sure he seemed the type for that though. He was drying his hands on a towel that had some suspicious red spotting. Blood, probably. She’d cleaned it off her own hands more than a few times in her eleven hundred years. She knew it when she saw it.

But why were his hands covered in blood? Was this something she wasn’t supposed to mention because everybody liked to live in their own little worlds where their stuffy old librarian friend was neither stuffy nor a librarian? Did everybody just quietly accept that this unassuming man had probably savagely beaten somebody right before they came over? Had he been cleaning up a body, and that’s why it had taken him so long to answer the door when they’d arrived? 

Were any of her questions the kind that she was supposed to just keep quiet about? Probably. And when she wasn’t sure, the answer was usually yes, and then Xander would give her the look again and they’d have to talk about it later before they got to the part where they had sex. She hated it when he’d sit her down and have another one of those discussions with her. 

Couldn’t discuss sex. Couldn’t tell people they were annoying. Couldn’t suggest things that normal humans wouldn’t do. It wasn’t her fault everybody was so damn sensitive and kept their thoughts to themselves. Gods forbid anybody be uncomfortable or offended by something that came out of the recently-mortal person’s mouth. She hadn’t had to worry about all this stuff for centuries. And it wasn’t that she was lacking empathy. She just thought that maybe, if everybody just said what they wanted to, there wouldn't be all the mixed signals and weird emotions. 

Apparently the blood actually was something to mention, because Willow jumped up from where she was sitting and started fussing about it in a very dramatic manner.

“Oh my god! Giles, are you okay?”

“Oh,” he smiled softly and looked down at the wash cloth in his hands. “Yes, I’m quite alright.”

“What happened?” Xander piped up. “Did something get the jump on you?”

Why was it perfectly normal for them to point out obvious things, but not her? Being human was so confusing.

“There was a-a situation earlier this evening, but it’s handled now. No cause for alarm.” He sat carefully on one of his barstools before removing his glasses and beginning to wipe them clean. “What has anybody figured out? Please tell me some kind of progress has been made over the last several days. I could do with a bit of good news.”

“Tara and I have been looking into some basic protection spells, for when we do figure out where she is. Really easy ones that should shield us from, you know, bullets and stuff.” She sounded unsure of herself about the last bit of her sentence.

“Should.” Tara clarified. “And we’re going to f-find a way to make it so that it- it definitely does.”

At least she was honest about that part.

“Oh, good. Anya, have you heard anything from uh, well, the demon community? These operatives are taking them, so it stands to reason that there-”

“Oh, yeah. They’ve got the information alright. You’re welcome, by the way. I called in a lot of favors from people. My favors!” 

He didn’t even know the half of it. She really wasn’t happy about that part. Demons didn’t owe favors all willy nilly. She’d done a lot of things in her time to be owed by so many people. To call those debts in just for some information on some military operation because Buffy had been kidnapped was just ridiculous. She’d had much better things in mind. But nobody was accepting drinks as payment anymore, since she’d come down with a case of humanity. She wasn’t one of them any more, so she had to barter good and proper. 

Giles was waiting for her to share what she’d learned, his eyebrows raised expectantly. “Well?”

“It’s something called-”

“The Initiative, yes.” A new voice, attached to a new man, filtered out of the bathroom. The bathroom Giles had spent so much time in after they’d arrived. Well, it made sense. That much time locked in a bathroom usually meant one of two things. One could lead to death and the other to orgasms. And since Giles wasn’t dead, it could only be the latter.

Wait. He’d just revealed the big information that she’d gone through all that trouble for. So she called in all those favors for nothing!

“Ethan is here!? That’s the situation you were dealing with? It doesn’t look very handled, Giles!” Xander stood and approached the mystery man in a menacing, albeit sexy, way. 

“Well, all that time they were locked in that tiny room together, I’m sure he got handled plenty, Xander.” 

Everybody in the room looked at her, with different levels of abject horror at the suggestion. Except the guy, Ethan, who smirked at her and raised an eyebrow. Like she needed any more confirmation that they had history together, and that it most definitely involved sex.

Giles was sputtering. Like they’d never been aware of him having an orgasm friend before. There was the one lady, who’d been the reason for Xander getting stuck with Spike. She’d had to give up her own orgasms so Giles could have his twice now.

“Anya!”

“What, Xander? God, you could cut the tension between those two with a knife.” He gave her the slack jawed look, like he always did when… “Oh, this is one of those things I’m not supposed to mention, huh? Because Giles really got to the age he is without any sexual partners. For goodness sake, he was growing up during the seventies! Of course-” 

The noise that came out of her boyfriend was somewhere between a whine and a yowl. “Please stop talking. Please.”

“Did you just tell me to shut up?” She squinted her eyes at him, appalled he would even dare talk to her in such a condescending way. 

Maybe it was because it was Giles, and he was old, and xander thought it was gross, but… She was really not going to make excuses for him. That’s how it started every time she’d granted a wish for some poor heartbroken girl. The girl excused his behavior, he kept doing it, eventually he ended up eviscerated.

“No, no no no. I didn’t. I asked you to stop saying the horrible, horrible brain melting things. There’s a difference!” 

“Both of you shut up, please.” Giles had the good brandy out, and was pouring a glass. “Ethan, I would ask how you escaped the shackles, but I don’t really care. You’d be wise to go chain yourself back up in the bathroom.”

Ethan chuckled and leaned against the door frame to the kitchen. “No, I don’t think I will. Now, I told you I came here with information-”

Giles struck him in the nose. He didn’t even spill a drop of his drink, which gave the impression that he had practice. Not something she would have expected out of Giles, but humans had all kinds of colorful pasts.

Ethan recoiled and backed his way into the kitchen, cornering himself. “Now, Rupert. Think clearly about this. You know I wouldn’t be here without good reason. Not after what happened last time.” 

Anya had never really pegged Giles as a man who could ever look scary or intimidating. But there was a gloss in his eyes as he advanced on Ethan. A controlled calm that hid something very powerful just below the surface. 

***

It had taken a lot of effort to subdue Giles' orgasm buddy enough to tie him to a chair and duct tape his mouth shut. Then there was discussion about what to do with him: let him go, kill him, extort him? Anya's suggestion to torture him hadn't gone over well. Big surprise, since it seemed nothing ever did. 

They'd finally settled on hearing him out, and deciding where to go after he told them everything he knew about the Initiative. Giles took great pleasure in ripping the tape from Ethan's mouth, and the cry of pain that immediately followed.

"Start talking, or I'll let Anya break your knee caps with a baseball bat like she wanted."

Scary Giles was oddly attractive. 

Ethan squirmed against his restraints before finally heaving a sigh. 

"Right then. They're called the Initiative. Been around since World War One. Secret government ops, sanctioned by the very level headed military this country has." He paused, probably for dramatic effect. He seemed like the type. Anya wondered if he’d ever been approached by D’Hoffryn. He would have probably been a pretty good vengeance demon. "Word about them has been spreading in the demon world. Ever since they set up shop here on the active hellmouth, they've ramped up their operation. Everybody's scared."

"Do you know where the base is located?" Giles interjected, urgency in his voice.

"You know I just realized something, mate." He glanced at each of them, a smile forming. "Looks like your Slayer is missing from this meeting. That wouldn't have anything to do with your bad mood, would it?"

The slap Giles delivered echoed off the walls.

"Ethan, we have a critical situation. You will tell me what you know or so help me God..."

"First of all, ouch. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that I’m giving this information to you freely. I came back here for you, Rupert. To keep you safe. Rest assured they won’t stop at vampires and demons. They’ll go for anybody remotely exceptional- including you and me, and your slayer. The operation is run by, and I'm quoting my source in this one, 'some old bitch by the name of Walsh'. Seems she's very popular with her subjects."

Giles blinked slowly. His mouth opened, then closed again. He looked very much like a gaping fish.

"You're quite certain your source is accurate? Trustworthy? They wouldn't feed you false information?"

"Not a doubt in my mind. Considering the truth spell I put on him, he hardly had a choice in the matter, did he?"

"Wait, Walsh? As in Maggie Walsh, my psychology professor? No way. That's not possible." 

Willow looked rather disturbed. Rightly so, if it really was her professor that had kidnapped her best friend and was probably experimenting on her for the last couple of weeks. And then carried on in lectures as if nothing was happening. Anya wondered idly if there was anybody on the hellmouth that didn't have some secret double life going on.

“Giles, he has to be lying. We need to do a truth spell. Make sure this is-is good information. We can’t just take him at his word! I mean, after the whole Halloween thing, and the, the you being a teenager thing.”

Willow looked from Giles, to Tara, and back to Giles, her mouth still hanging open from the shock. Giles and Tara looked at each other, then back to Willow. There was a lot of glancing, and no talking, and Anya figured she may as well be the one to say what everybody else was thinking.

“It’s not going to work on somebody as powerful as he is. And even if it did, that just confirms that he’s telling us the truth about the information he got. Either way, we still can’t know for sure and it would be a huge waste of time.” At Willow’s disgruntled look, Anya threw her hands up. “Look, you want to find Buffy. We get that. And you don’t want to just jump the gun on the first bit of info that comes your way. So go investigate. Look into the people she’s close to.”

“I hate to admit it, but Anya makes several good points, Willow. Ethan is far too experienced in magics for a truth spell to work on him. It’s willpower controlled, and I’m afraid none of us would be able to, uh, over power him.” 

He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, and Anya couldn’t help but notice the way he was specifically avoiding eye contact with Ethan. Willpower, indeed. She’d seen that before, hundreds of times as a vengeance demon. She had no doubt there was history between the two, that neither had ever really moved past. Ethan was… Well, way more confident in his sexuality than Giles was. 

“That’s not true, Giles. You could do it. You were going to do one on Spike, right?” 

Willow had that gleam in her eyes, like magic was the solution here somehow. Clearly, she wasn’t ready to accept that certain people were just horrible psychopaths, and no amount of magic was ever going to change that. Anya hadn’t met this Walsh person, but if Giles was willing to take Ethan at his word, everybody else should have too. 

“Spike was a different situation entirely.” Giles was stern, now. “In any case, I’m not willing to do the spell, and that’s the end of it. Willow. Maggie Walsh is not what she seems.”

Tara stepped in front of Willow and placed her hands on her shoulders gently. Oh, yeah. There’s definitely romantic things happening there. 

“We can take a closer look at her without using magic. And I can scry again, w- without being in a rush. And we still have to find out who the commandos are, r-right? So, you and me can work on that, together.”

“Well, while you’re out staring into crystals, why don’t you look into what exactly three-fourteen is, will you?” Everybody turned back to Ethan, who had been quietly observing the arguing up to that point. “Look, I couldn’t get anything clear about it. Demons go in there, and they don’t come back out. And if they do, they aren’t talking. It’s got them all scared. I’d wager that whatever it is those people are doing? That’s where you’re going to get your answer.”

Tara nodded. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

Now that their weekly Scooby meeting finally seemed to be over, Anya and Xander could go back to his musty basement and do much more enjoyable activities. Namely, the kissing and the getting naked and the having orgasms. Even though now, he’d probably want to talk things over and give her a lecture about not mentioning Giles’ sex life before they could actually have their own. The things she put up with for a man with a nice penis. Oh well, it was worth it. Most of the time.


	9. Chapter 9

Bizzaro Land, USA

Her old shirt might have been scraps now, but Spike’s fit well enough that she didn’t mind it so much. She also didn’t mind the genuine way he smiled and laughed when she told him about how bad Riley had smelled. She didn’t mind how he was very gently rubbing away all the dried blood with a torn off strip of his dress shirt. She wasn’t minding the cool feel of his fingers on the back of her wrist while he worked on a particularly stubborn patch of blood. She didn’t even mind that she didn’t mind.

She was fairly certain it was her birthday, or right around there. And she was still a prisoner, and now she was locked in a cell with the guy who used to be her most hated enemy. That title belonged to Walsh now, which put Spike significantly far down the list. So far down that the only person she could think of that she hated less than him was Harmony, which he’d been super offended about. 

“Bloody hell, I’m so far down the list that only Harmony is below me?”

Maybe it was lack of real food, or sugar, or all the drugs they’d been pumping into her. Combination of all three? It wasn’t important. Point was, her world had been shit slammed sideways ten days from sunday by people she thought she could trust. Again. Just like Angel, and Faith, and that stupid jerk Parker. She’d looked up to Walsh. Admired her, even. Respected her. And Riley. Riley. He’d acted like he was the stand up guy. Mr. Solid and Secure and Safe. Take me home to meet your mom. Oh, by the way! I also torture creatures of the night for enjoyment. Pump ‘em full of drugs and drag ‘em back to my great big cave, that’s definitely not compensating for anything at all! 

Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!

She was tired, and sore, and hungry. She wanted a hot bath and clean clothes and a real bed. Cake and ice cream. But all she had was Spike, offering some semblance of comfort. And she was just going to happily accept it, because she didn’t have to worry about him betraying her trust because he didn’t have it. As soon as they got out, and Walsh and the Initiative were dealt with in some fittingly gruesome manner, they could go back to hating each other and having fights every Tuesday. Maybe not actually trying to kill each other anymore, but definitely still fighting.

For now, they had this, whatever it was. A cease-fire. A truce. Some kind of weird alliance. She didn’t even know what to call it.

She was leaned against Spike’s chest in the back corner of their cell, elbows resting on his knees to either side of her, letting herself relax for the first time since she’d been captured. His fingers were working their way through her hair, getting out the tangles and smoothing it down so that it looked much less wild than it had been before. She closed her eyes, getting lost in the feel of a solid person against her and the way his fingers felt. 

He breathed, she realized. A steady rise and fall that went perfectly with the rhythm of him combing her hair. It was so… human. So unlike any other vampire she’d ever been close enough to to notice. 

“..buh buh buh babuh, bah buh buh babuh… I wanna be sedated…”

Spike was singing. William the bloody. There was something she never thought she’d see. Or hear. And he wasn’t half bad, either.

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, you know.” she said simply, not wanting to break whatever it was that had come over them. It didn’t work.

His singing stopped, as did his fingers, and he inclined his head questioningly.

“The being sedated thing? Overrated.”

“Well, from your perspective, I suppose it would be, yeah. Song’s about being stuck though, and wanting something to kill it being mundane.” He wiggled his fingers against her scalp, sending shivers down her spine. “This is me being sedated, as it were.”

She felt her eyebrows raise at that, mouth twitching down, though not in a frown. More of a... huh, kinda thing. Spike, her once-nemesis, was feeling all ‘sedated’ by cuddling and running his fingers through her hair. Weird.

“I think it’s the blood. You’re obviously very stoned.”

His chest shook with a laugh, puffs of breath hitting the back of her ear and raising goosebumps across her skin. She knew, without looking, that he was flashing another one of those pearly white grins. He let his head drop, until his forehead rested on her shoulder. She could feel the coolness of his skin against hers through the fabric of her shirt. His shirt. 

She kind of liked that. 

He turned his head so that his nose was touching her neck and nuzzled into her. All of her slayer instincts were screaming at the danger. Right below that nose was a mouth, with very sharp teeth. They might have been blunt just then, but it only took a second for vampires to shift. Just a second, and he could have ended her life. And in the position they were in, she would have been helpless. He could wrap his arms and legs around her and she’d be pinned to him. 

No weapons, no way to escape.

She should have shoved him away. She should have just let him starve, really. But nestled in his lap like she was, him surrounding her… it was comforting, not frightening. She knew how stupid it was. She did. And she knew that if they ever got out of there, nobody would understand why she hadn’t killed him already. They wouldn’t understand why she was letting him close to her. So they didn’t need to know.

“Slayer...”

He whispered her title, but the way he said it… so close to her ear, in that low tone that was something close to a growl but far more sensual. She felt it through her entire body, pooling in the pit of her stomach. She shifted her weight, trying to get some distance between their bodies. She was suddenly too hot, embarrassed that he could do that just by saying one word.

He sniffled a bit before he pulled away from her and sat up fully. “Sit up, I’ll get you covered so you can get some sleep.” 

She scooted away from him, just enough that he could get up. It was only a moment, but she felt every inch of his absence. As much as she would never, ever, dream of doing anything with Spike… well, it wasn’t the first time he’d had that effect on her. She’d kind of come to accept it for what it was. But it had never happened like this, where he was there, and they were pressed against each other.

God, can he smell me? He probably can. Please let his nose be overwhelmed by body odor. 

He wriggled around behind her, not bothering to get up to remove his duster. There was quiet grunting and sighing and the rustling of leather and a curse or two, then he was drawing her back to his…

Very bare chest. Completely. No pretty red anything in the way.

Freak out, or just go with it? 

"What..?"

She couldn't even get 'happened to your shirt' out before he answered her. It was balled up on his collar bone. A little make-shift pillow.

"You need rest so you can heal up. You want to sleep on a cold hard floor, or a cold hard body? At least I can absorb your body heat and reflect it back at you. Like a blanket." He paused, waiting for an answer. When she didn't immediately give him one, he heaved a sigh. "One time offer, Slayer. Take it or leave it."

She let herself relax against him. Let her muscles loosen just a bit. It was all he needed to throw his duster over her like a big cozy comforter. And he wasn’t all that hard. Not like the floor would be. He was more… chiseled? Firm? She wasn’t going to think about Spike being hard.

How long had it been since she'd had somebody touch her without expectations? Before, it always had to lead up to something. Kissing, and then with the touching, the removal of clothes and… unsatisfying sex, at some point. And it never ended well. Not for her, at least.

But with Spike - he didn't want to kiss her. He probably didn't even want to be touching her, really. It didn't have to go anywhere. Neither of them wanted it to. It was just a thing. 

They were in a scary place, with even scarier things happening, and the only familiarity they had was each other. And wrapped up under his duster, listening to his steady breathing, she didn't feel alone. She didn't feel afraid.

And maybe he needed that just as much as she did.

Freak out? Why waste her energy on it? She didn't have any to spare for it, and she really was dead tired, and the floor was so much less inviting.

"Thank you, Spike."

"Don't make a thing of it.” Too Late. “Just get some sleep, yeah? Try not to drool on the leather."

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, almost a hug but definitely not because Spike would never hug her.

"I don't… know what I'd do, without you here."

***

An idiot, he was indeed. Great idea to suck on a rag full of Slayer blood and then let her cozy up to him real nice while he played with her hair. Even after weeks of being a prisoner, it still had that vanilla scent to it. Wasn't until she was already leaning on him that he realized the problem with it.

The very hard, obvious problem.

Damned aphrodisiac properties..

He was more of an idiot for egging that problem on. Got every last tangle out of that golden hair of hers, and even sang to her a bit. How she hadn’t noticed his erection pressed into the small of her back, he had no idea. He was just thanking whoever that she wasn’t trying to kill him for it. When he nuzzled at her throat and took in a good whiff of her and realized it. She was enjoying what they were doing just as much as he was. And turned on Slayer laying against him with her jugular a centimeter away from his fangs? Heaven help him, that was an intoxicating mixture.

So much so that he couldn't help it when he uttered her name. Or title, rather. It was all the same to him. He felt the goosebumps as they raised on her skin, and he was almost done for. He'd been so close to kissing that delectable neck of hers, and the only thing that stopped him was that she started wiggling around. 

God, did it make her blood rush though. She was all flushed and hot and her heartbeat raced just a little bit faster. Made his mouth water.

He couldn't help but wonder if she'd say no to him right then. If he spun her around to face him and started kissing down her throat, what would her reaction be? Would she let him? Try to kill him? 

And then the bloody chip went off, and didn't stop until he got himself composed. Stupid thing couldn't tell the difference between a fantasy and intended action, apparently, so he couldn't even think about shoving her to the floor and seeing what those Slayer muscles could really do.

Probably make him think it was the bloody rapture. 

Then he went and got more stupid, because he was in a mood for it clearly. Took his duster off for her to sleep under. And why stop at that, right? If you’re gonna give your most prized possession to your enemy to use as a blanket, may as well go full sack of hammers and start getting naked. What was the difference?

The t-shirt had been one thing. Exposed girl in a place full of demons who'd be very happy to do unspeakable things to her. She deserved some cover. William insisted, damn gentleman that he was. The nice dress shirt getting destroyed? For a good cause. All that blood going to waste just sitting there, and she wouldn't let him use his tongue. Which would have been so much more efficient, of course, but she wouldn’t allow it when he’d tried.

But his duster? Sure, he'd give it to Dru without a second thought. Other than that, he wore it like a second skin. It was part of who he was. He’d bested Nikki for that coat, and the only way he’d ever give it up is if he was dust. 

So when he'd taken it off for her, it bloody well meant something. 

Was he buzzed off the blood? Absolutely. Was that the reason? He damn well hoped so. Tit for tat. She'd provided for him, so he provided for her. And while he couldn’t feed her like she had done for him, he could help her heal, and get some rest, and watch over her.

As for the little shirt pillow? Bugger it, right? At least he'd made sure she was positioned in a way that she wouldn't notice little Spike rearing his head. As hard as he was, friction would have been unwelcome. He had enough to deal with without adding chaffing to the list. And he had a feeling that if she knew, she'd never get to sleep. She’d be up glaring at him from the opposite corner until her eyes bled and probably threatening his unlife, and she was much more pleasant to be around when she wasn’t being a right bitch.

He could deal with his discomfort if it meant she’d be more able to defend herself. If she slept well, she'd heal up faster and make more blood. She'd stay alive longer if she was more alert. Faster reflexes, more clever, better chances of getting the hell out of there in one piece.

They'd probably come round for her again in the morning and drag her away to do more of whatever it was they had planned. But for now, at least, it didn't seem like she was on their kill list. They wanted something from her. And while he hadn't the slightest idea of what that could be, he knew it couldn't be good.

I don't know what I'd do without you here…

Her words kept coming back to him throughout the night. How the hell was he supposed to respond to that? Nothing had come to mind, so he'd said nothing at all. But they'd had an effect on him. One he wasn't exactly thrilled about.

The fantasies he was starting to have? All well and good. She was an attractive woman, and he didn't have Drusilla around to occupy his time, or any privacy to take care of things himself. Certain urges and desires could be expected. Shag her raw with his teeth nipping her throat while she begged for more? Wouldn’t be the first time he’d done somebody in that way. 

But when she'd thanked him, his heart went to his throat. It wasn't often in his unlife that somebody really appreciated him. As much as he loved Dru, he knew she didn't really care if he stayed or went. His decades of devotion meant nothing to her when she got in a mood, and she'd just as soon send him packing as have him around. So when Buffy expressed real, heartfelt gratitude… 

He was able to save face and told her not to make a thing of it but… there it was. It was a thing. A great big wave of confusion is what it was. Emotions he’d rather not deal with at that particular moment, so he opted for trying to get some sleep of his own. 

He shifted just slightly, adjusting the sleeping woman so that she was almost cradled in his arms. Her head pressed against his collarbone, back against his propped up knee, her legs curled over his extended one. He couldn’t help but brush the stray strands of hair away from her face and run his thumb along her jawline.

Gods, he still remembered the way she’d tasted. The way she’d felt in his lap before, when she hadn’t minded his very obvious attraction to her. How soft those lips were against his own. How responsive she was. How she pressed herself against him and touched him in all the right ways. And he almost wanted that again. Wanted her. But without it being a spell.

He let out a sigh and shook his head. What the hell was he even thinking? That he wanted the Slayer to fancy him? Absolutely not. He was just… stressed. Any port in a storm. Intrusive thoughts, that’s all it was. The blood probably still had traces of whatever they’d been doping her with in it. Certainly seemed to be making her more… attached? That could explain it.

He put it out of his mind as much as he could, with her curled up to him and warming his skin. He was going to sleep.

With the Slayer. You’re cuddled up, sleeping with the Slayer, you mixed-up, randy little git. Deny it all you want, ignore it, whatever you have to do. Just do not act on those stupid impulses. Don’t bloody kiss her. Don’t even start with the moon eyes. She’s prey, that’s all she is. You’re just… you’re a monster to her. And as soon as you get the chip out, she’ll be raring to kill you again. And you’ll suck her dry. That’s the end of it.

He set his jaw, closed his eyes, and willed his brain to just shut up about it already. It was more annoying than Harmony talking about, well, pretty much anything. More nutty than Dru at her worst. He needed to kill something. Anything. Could vampires get lobotomies?

***

Long, slender legs, so well toned. Tan and soft and pliable under his lips. She smelled like lavender and vanilla on the surface, but underneath…

Beneath him.

She sighed her pleasure. Beckoned him higher, closer. Raked her fingers through his hair as he devoured her without mercy.

A delicacy that he would happily feast upon for hours if she’d let him. Such sweet nectar.

She trembled at his touch, shaky gasps of breath ripping from her lungs.

‘Please.’

She begged for release, and he gave it to her.

***

Her sudden movement was what woke him up. A response to feeding bags landing on the floor with a plop.

“Oh, oh my god…”

She pushed herself off of him and put as much distance between them as she could, which wasn’t much. Virtue fluttering in the wind, even though they hadn’t actually done anything. Reminded him what an absolute priss she was normally. Seemed like the honeymoon was over, then. Until the next time she was feeling lonely and wanted a bit of cold comfort, then she’d be back in his arms again.

“Rise and shine, lovebirds. Eat up. Big day ahead of you. You’re gonna need all the energy you can get.” Some hulking guy stood by the door, bigger and even more crew cut than Boy Wonder. “Oh, and you might want to put your clothes back on for it. Just a suggestion.”

Spike couldn’t help but smirk. No doubt that little bit of gossip would make it directly back to the one who had the hots for her. The only thing that would have been sweeter would have been him seeing it for himself. Oh, look at that. Security cameras.

It was going to be an entertaining day.


	10. Chapter 10

"Is this really necessary, Rupert?" Ethan gestured to the shackles around his wrists and ankles. Under normal circumstances, he'd be all for a bit of bondage. But chained to a bathtub so small he couldn't even fully stretch his legs? Wasn't his idea of fun. "You know, the bed would be much more enjoyable. I'd keep quiet there, too. Oh! You could gag me! Remember when we-"

"Sileō." 

His mouth kept moving, but no sound came out. So, the old boy did still have a bit of skill after all. A spell for silence. Rather more effective than whatever that material was that he'd used before. Ethan couldn't do as much as hum, and as such… Couldn't magic the shackles off again. Very clever.

"Ethan, if you were ever a friend to me, I need you to understand something. My slayer's life is in great danger. She's being held in a heavily guarded military facility, alongside scores of demons and… From what we know, she's in very close proximity to William the Bloody. Nod if you understand the seriousness of this situation."

Ethan sighed and gave him a single nod. Not that he especially cared about it, but that hadn't been the question. 

"She's been in captivity for… Weeks now. I have no way of knowing what state she's in, if she's even alive..." 

His voice broke, and that was something Ethan cared about, even if he'd never say it. Even after all the years of scorn and distance, he could never fully pull himself away from his old mate.

"Then you come along. As if I hadn't enough to deal with as it were." He pinched the bridge of his nose and sniffled a bit, likely on the verge of tears. "I don't have time or patience for your shenanigans, Ethan. Every time you show up… You endanger lives. You sow the seeds of chaos. I can't abide it. Not this time."

If he could have, he would have laughed. It was always so refreshing to see the real Rupert slip out. A glimpse at his true nature. When he was serious like this, it was always dangerous territory, and Ethan hadn't forgotten just how lethal the man was. 

Seeing as he wasn't quite ready for death yet… he put his hands up in surrender, as much as he could raise them, and pointed to his mouth. Life, his in particular, was a precious thing. And if he had to skirt on the side of good for a while to keep it, he'd do it.

Besides, he'd come to Sunnydale to be helpful in the first place. The only reason he was chained up was that Rupert was not in the mood to listen. Not that he ever was, but he was being especially pig headed about it this time. 

"I take that to mean you have something profound you'd like to say that would change my mind about this?" Ethan nodded his head in response. "Very well. Do not make me regret this. Exsolvo."

"Mmm, much better, thank you." He licked his lips, trying to determine the best way to deliver his pitch. "I can be useful, Rupert. You said it yourself. This is a military operation you're dealing with. You can't exactly go in there, guns blazing. They've got far more guns than you. Probably better shots, too. You've got, what? Four recently graduated children?" He let out a scoff before continuing. "How did you put it? I endanger lives and sow the seeds of chaos? Sounds like something that would be useful to you right about now."

"Are you suggesting that I set you loose on trained operatives and hope that you keep your word? I won't have you blindly casting spells that could further endanger Buffy's life."

"You know, contrary to what you might think, I do know some rather powerful protection spells. Things your little redhead couldn't possibly have the skill to pull off. You think I've lived this long, not knowing how to keep myself free of danger? I could protect her, and melt that entire place into a puddle of molten steel and she'd walk out unscathed by it. If she's still able to walk, that is."

"I can't trust you, Ethan. We established that years ago. I'm not going to start now."

That was a fair point. And he had a feeling that trust was one of those important factors to his being released, rather than deceased.

“Let me do the protection spell. All I need is a strand of her hair, and no real harm will come to her." At the very skeptical look, he continued. "I can take care of this mess for you, Rupert. These people don't just take demons and monsters. They take men like us, too. It's in my own best interest to see that they're destroyed. Does that make you feel better about it?"

“And why on earth would you want to help me?”

What a very stupid question.

“You know why, and don’t try to pretend you don’t.” Implement Puppy Dog Eyes. “Rupert, please. You can try to forget the history between us all you want, but don’t pretend to be stupid. It doesn’t become you.”

Rupert pursed his lips in the way that meant he was considering things. Not happily, but still. Consideration was something, wasn’t it? Ethan half expected him to put the gag order back on, turn out the light, and lock the door behind him when he left. It wouldn’t be out of character. 

“How do you intend to be of use? You protect Buffy, then what? Cause an electrical storm that takes their entire operation offline?”  
It would seem that Ethan was going to need a bit more firepower than he initially thought. Well, power would be the operative word there. But he knew exactly where to get it, to do the kinds of things he had in mind. And that would require some finessing. A little sacrifice, a summoning. The electrical storm would be precise, concentrated, guaranteed to hit the right target. As for the rest, well… They’d burn that bridge when they got to it, yeah?

“Now that does sound like fun. And entirely possible to do. I could also, I don’t know, turn every weapon in their arsenal into toys. With the little flags that say ‘bang!’ when they try to fire them. Wouldn’t that be a sight. I could unleash an army of snapping turtles. Not exactly lethal, but I get the feeling you don’t want me to actually kill them. Just disrupt their functionality. Correct?”

He flashed a grin, and felt a little surge of pride when the corners of his friends mouth ticked up slightly, signalling his approval. Something it had been a very long time since he’d had from his old mate. He couldn’t help but push it just a tad though, because what he truly desired was to rekindle an old flame, even if it were fleeting. Years of skeezy hotel rooms and even skeezier women had begun to grow boring. Nothing would be more exciting than his Ripper, if he could manage to coax him out of that shell he’d built up over the years.

“You know, Rupert…” He lowered his tone, softened it, and looked up through his eyelashes at the man who now despised him. “I could be useful in other ways, too. If you’d let me. Take a bit of that stress off your mind.”

“So you keep suggesting. I told you before, Ethan… Must I keep repeating myself? That’s not what… who… I am any more.”

“Oh, but it is. I see him in there, dying to come out to play. You can’t lie to me. And at least, with me… you could be the real you. For a time. If you’d just let yourself have a little fun.”

***

"Alright, come on you two. Time to get moving. I really don't want to have to dart you and drag you this morning, so let's go peacefully."

Riley had shown up before they'd even finished eating, before Spike had bothered to put his shirt back on. Not that she was exactly complaining about the view, despite how she'd acted when they woke up. It had been an instinct. Protect her reputation, whatever that was worth.

It wasn't until later, when they were walking down the hall with guns pressed into their backs that she realized- her reputation meant absolutely nothing here. Not to them. 

The other demons had watched warily as she passed. Backed away from their doors. Hid in the corners of their cells. It was like they knew, somehow. She was back to full strength, no dopey after effects. The respite Spike had given her the night before was exactly what she'd needed to pull herself together.

She was The Slayer, damnit. And it was time for Walsh to learn what that meant. So she'd put her shoulders back, held her head high, and walked like she had a purpose. A mission. 

Right up until they'd arrived at the Pit, and a dart was shot into her back. She fell to the ground with a thud, but Spike didn't. He tried to fight them, even as the chip fired and the drugs were obviously working. He'd lunge for a throat, then reel back screaming in pain. At least they weren't beating him this time. Must have been under orders not to. They just held him down until his eyes drifted shut, game face still on. 

When she woke up and looked around the huge empty room, Spike was nowhere to be seen. He was just gone. They'd taken him. She was on her own, and it was terrifying. She hadn't realized how much his presence had been affecting her until she'd lost it. Her earlier confidence was wavering. She might be able to fight on her own, but to actually survive that place without him?

No. Even if she got out on her own, however long it took, she knew she wouldn't be coming out the same without him holding her together.

After last night...

"Oh good, you're awake. Finally. Let's get started. Our goal today is to test your strength and abilities in a somewhat real world scenario. Dr. Engleman has informed me that you've had an ample amount of time to heal from your injuries. Aside from a few scrapes here and there, you appear to be completely recovered in just a few short days. Remarkable. Truly. It's not often I say that of my subjects."

Subjects, right. Because she wasn't a human here, she was just another monster to be studied. Well, fine. They thought she was a monster? A freak? That's what she'd give them. She knew her power, and they didn't have a clue. A myth in some book they'd happened across. She crossed her arms and shot a deadly glare at Walsh.

"Let's get this over with so I can go back to my cell. I'm really not in the mood to listen to you talk today. And since I'm not, you know, attending a class or anything, I really don't care what you have to say. "

The hag pursed her lips and glared back. " I see. Very well, then. You should know that… Although this is a scientific test, and I am intrigued at your preliminary results… Your life is very much in danger here. You will not be saved."

A buzzer sounded over the intercom, and a panel in the wall slid open. She was expecting to see demons charging at her, or vampires. Maybe a werewolf. But not Spike chained to the wall. She tried to hide her relief that he was there, and in one piece.

He looked rough though. He was still in game face, but… he had a fresh cut on his cheek and a bruise to go with it. When had that happened? Sometime after she’d passed out? She hadn’t seen him be hit with anything. His red shirt was hanging open, too. Revealing… Well, pretty much everything, with his pants hanging as low as they were. She couldn’t help the path her eyes took. Downward, over his bare chest and down to his jutting hip bones, and the hint of curls. He was starving, she realized. She hadn't noticed how thin he'd gotten but put on display like he was… It was horribly obvious.

"Your vampire was not nearly as complacent as you were. He had to be subdued a second time."

Your vampire.

Huh.

"So, what's the game? Save the distressing damsel?" She started pacing slowly around the room, working her way toward Spike as nonchalantly as she could. She wanted to be able to get to him as quickly as possible, once Walsh released whatever monster she had in store for them. "Let's do this."

He chuckled and waggled his hips at her. "Oh, you're just jealous that I pull it off better than you, sweetheart." If he was feeling good enough to snark, he was feeling good enough to fight. Right?

Walsh cleared her throat from the balcony, trying to get their attention, but Buffy didn't care. She was focused. Ready. Poised for a fight. She had no weapons, but Spike did. She'd have to get him loose somehow, and hope he wasn’t posturing and could actually do some damage. As far as she could tell, that was probably the only way either of them was getting out of there alive, and she'd be damned if they were dying in a laboratory.

"If you two are done, we can begin. Riley, brief them on their opponent."

She hadn't even noticed the asshole, hiding up there out of her sight. Every time she saw him, he disgusted her just a little more. The way he looked at her, and judged her, like he was in any position. She was really going to enjoy round housing his ass through a door.

"Unidentified HST species. Took eight of our best men to bag these two. Good luck. You're gonna need it."

Another buzzer sounded, and a panel slid open across the room from Spike. Two squid faced, hulking figures stepped forward, their eyes locked on Buffy. Ew, tentacle hands. She'd never seen demons like that before. And how the hell was she supposed to kill them without a sword or a knife or, you know, anything but her bare hands? Did they have vertebra in their necks that she could break? 

Her eyes honed in on a glint of metal on one of the demons. Necklace. Key. Hopefully one that opened the locks around Spike’s wrists. She just had to get it, and get to him, and get him free… without taking a hit. Easy peasy, right? She bounced on the balls of her feet a couple times, psyching herself up for the fight. One way or another, those two ugly green bastards were going down. 

You can do this. Go!

She took off at a dead run for the key holder, determined to end things quickly. Still, she couldn’t deny the thrill she felt at the prospect of a real fight. That kind of rush was so freeing. Fulfilling. It felt like flying, after so much time spent being caged.

She dropped to the ground just before she got to the demons, dodging a hit and power sliding between the two of them. She landed a brutal kick to the back of the key holder’s knee, knocking him to the ground. She pounced, grabbing for the chain around his neck. She had it. Or so she thought, when a tentacled hand grabbed her by the hair and flung her sideways. 

Okay, ow. Now I’m mad. Nobody messed with the hair. Especially when it had just gotten all tangle free.

She scrambled to her feet, barely getting them under her when a kick to her chest set her flat on her back. They were a lot faster than they looked, and hit harder too. She threw a leg up just in time, staggering the demon backwards, giving her time to flip upright. She threw a flurry of punches, keeping him on the retreat. 

Key holder grabbed from behind, pinning her arms to her sides and lifting her off her feet. Shit. She flailed, whipping her feet with as much power behind them as she could muster - which was a lot. A few connected, just enough to keep the other demon from getting in any good hits. She slammed her head back, and the grip on her loosened enough for her to snatch the necklace. Another headbutt, and she ripped it off before cartwheeling as far away as she could. She had to get Spike free. There was no way she could take both of them on her own. 

She sprinted toward Spike, desperate to make it to him before they caught up to her. She was so close, but she knew at least one of them was right on her heels. Why the hell were they so fast?

“Get down!” Spike yelled, bringing both of his feet up. She flattened down just in time, and his legs soared over here, sending one of the demons flying. “Get me loose so I can bloody help you already!”

She sprang to her feet, fumbling with the key as she reached for one of his hands.

Key, lock. Get in the lock! Get in the freaking lock!! Turn! Jesus, turn already! Yes!

She’d just shoved the key in the second lock when she was dragged away from him. For the second time in less than a minute, tentacle hands grabbed her by the hair, and she’d had just about enough of that. He had to go. Geez, was he a biter, too? 

“Worry about yourself, Slayer! I can get this one!”

She didn’t need to be told twice. She twisted herself away, kicking Mr. Hair Puller away and delivering a barrage of very ineffective punches. She needed to find a weakness, somewhere.

"Sorry, pal, but getting all touchy with the hair is only allowed after the second date."

One hit from him, and she found herself airborne. Spine, concrete wall. She coughed when she landed, unable to get a good breath in. That was definitely leaving a bruise. She looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, and found both demons advancing on her slowly.

God, this is going to hurt, isn’t it?

Spike let out a roar, coming out of nowhere and slamming his shoulder into the demon closest to her. Once again, he’d put himself in between her and harm’s way. But this time, she was getting to her feet. This time, she hadn’t been drugged into uselessness. 

Adrenaline coursed through her veins, and she relished it. No more distractions. She stepped up to Spike's right side and gave him a nod. They were in this fight together now. Team Squidface didn’t stand a chance.


	11. Chapter 11

Joyce sighed heavily into the receiver, her breath echoing roughy against his ear. She’d been crying again, he could tell. He hated the thought of her sitting alone in her kitchen, sobbing with worry for her child. For Buffy. And it was that imagery which had finally made up his mind to allow Ethan to help.

“I just can’t stand to think about what she must be going through in there, Rupert. It’s been so weeks now. My baby spent her twentieth birthday in captivity. Or possibly…. How do we know if she’s even- Oh, god…”

“I know, Joyce. Believe me. And I - We are doing everything we can to get buffy back in one piece. She is still alive, I can assure you of that. We’re still able to track her location. It’s her condition that causes me the most concern.”

He recalled the way Spike had looked after… and that had barely been a week. He couldn’t, nor did he want to, imagine what state they’d be in by now. 

“Ripper…” Ethan called from the living room in a singsong voice. “Nearly ready in here. Or would you prefer to keep chit chatting with your sweetheart on the telephone all night?”

“Who’s that?”

Damn. He’d really been hoping that this entire conversation could have been avoided.

“It’s help, in a manner of speaking. More of a pain in my ass than anything, I’m afraid. But he can make it much easier to gain access to where Buffy is being kept. And we’re - enlisting further assistance.”

“Did he call you Ripper? That’s not that man who- Oh, do be careful, Rupert.”

“I’ll be fine, Joyce. She’ll be fine. She’s a strong girl.” He wasn’t sure who he was trying to reassure more- her, or himself. “I’ll call you with an update on things, when we know more. Willow and Tara are working on their own project. They should be here tomorrow evening.”

“Okay. Thank you, Rupert. Truly. I don’t know how I’d keep myself together without you.”

“Try to get some rest, Joyce.”

He hung up the receiver and pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a quiet sigh. When all of this was said and done, and Buffy was safe, he was going to need a very long vacation from being an unofficial watcher. Somewhere secluded and hard to find with absolutely no phones. 

He had Ethan to focus on for now, and his ludicrous suggestion.

Invoke the power of a God of Chaos. Wonderful plan. Absolutely no way it would backfire in some horribly gruesome manner. But Ethan had insisted he'd need the extra juice, and Giles grudgingly believed him. He wasn't happy about it. Not in the slightest. Ethan even had a gift. A mysterious package he’d had delivered and had immediately stuffed into a pillow case before Giles could get a look at it. 

A gift for a chaos god…. He didn’t know what it was, but it couldn’t be pleasant. Especially not with his old “friend” hiding it like that. Surely Ethan would know what boundaries he couldn’t cross if he wanted to leave Sunnydale alive. 

There were any number of unsavory things that could be offered up without quite crossing that line, and it would be like him to push it right to the limit. To leave Giles feeling as if he’d sold his very soul to the devil. But if it had a chance to get Buffy back in one piece, he'd risk it. No matter the cost. 

Even if it involved Ethan pacing back and forth, checking and rechecking that everything was just so. He seemed less like a powerful magic user summoning a god and more like a lad nervously preparing for his first date.

That was… worrisome. Gods weren't exactly known for being merciful to humans. But one of chaos… Well, they were called that for a reason. They were indifferent, acted on whims, went and did what they wanted in pursuit of their own pleasures. 

Potentially, this could all turn out fine. Highly unlikely, of course. But the ingredients for the summoning spell were already set out on his desk, the candles lit, and the offering...in place. Whatever it happened to be.

"Very well, Ethan,” he said with a sigh, barely resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Or punch Ethan right in his. “Let's get this over with so I can get eviscerated already and call it a day."

Ethan staggered back a step, hand theatrically raised to his heart. “Really, Rupert, you think I’d allow you to be eviscerated? You wound me.”

“I highly doubt that. But I certainly will if you keep dawdling. Now stop faffing about and get on with it already.”

Ethan sighed heavily, but then took up his position to begin the summoning. He raised the statuette of a serpent above his head, and began the spell.

"Loki, hear me,  
Loki, God Of Mischief,  
What i would do,  
To communicate with you,  
If you be the fire let me be the wood,  
If you be the ice-"

"Let you be the water. Yes, yes. Do you have my offering?"

Giles spun around and came face to face with… well, not at all what he expected. A tall, thin...man? With bright red hair done up Elvira style, wearing a white leotard covered in sequins?

"Ethan, mind explaining to me why you've summoned… David Bowie?"

"Evening, gentlemen. My, my, aren't we a… lively couple of people." He eyed them up and down, then shrugged. "I normally attract a much younger group. Ah, well. I hope you've at least prepared a proper offering. I've got this particular craving, you see. Otherwise I wouldn't be here."

"Hi...Loki. My Lord! Wow. This is an honor. Truly, such an honor. I must say, huge fan of your work, sir. Ah, the offering. Yes, yes, of course. Forgive me, where are my manners?"

"You haven't got any." Giles dead panned. He never thought he'd see Ethan fawning over a deity like this. Prancing around the room trying to be all prim and proper in front of a creature he apparently idolized. Of course. It was the god of chaos, after all. At least the most well known. 

Ethan hurriedly reached into his Pillow Case of Horrid Mystery and pulled out… a box of Twinkies. Really? All his soul searching and worry, and the offering was a bloody box of snack cakes? 

"That was your important delivery? Twinkies? Honestly, Ethan. You could benefit from a bit less melodrama."

"Oh, don't start Rupert. You act like a queen yourself half the time. Here you are, sir, my Lord, Loki."

Ethan practically tripped over his own feet as he handed it over to… Not David Bowie. The Ziggy Stardust appearance was really throwing him off. He expected… Horns and robes. Maybe some kind of dramatic entrance that involved burning the carpet and ruining any chance of getting the deposit back.

"Excellent. You know, we haven't got anything like this in Asgard. Bleeding shame, if you ask me. Odin is such a fuddy duddy when he's on the wagon. But, it does get me out of the palace from time to time. I get to come down here and fraternize with you lovely humans." He paused, taking a bite of twinkie and expressing his enjoyment of it. "Deee-licious. I do have a bit of a sweet tooth. Have you got any tang? I like to dip them."

"Ah, unfortunately sir, I wasn't able to procure any. Ah, but! I could offer you a top shelf scotch perhaps?"

"No, he can't. It's not his to offer. Ethan for god's sake, stop prancing around like a ninny. We didn't summon him for a chat." That scotch was bloody expensive, and I’ll be damned if Ethan goes handing it out to Gods that can’t even enjoy the effects of it. Wanker.

Loki licked the filling from his fingers, smacking his lips as he did so. Giles could only stare, still trying to wrap his head around Ziggy Stardust standing in his living room. Well, if they'd need a boost of chaotic energy, this definitely qualified.

"This form is obviously distracting you from the matter at hand." His face shifted and hair darkened, becoming shorter and messy. "Does accountant with sensible shoes work better for you? Good. Now then, for what business have you summoned me?"

Ethan bowed his head, eliciting an eye roll from Loki. "There is a situation at hand, my Lord. I humbly request your assistance with this matter."

"Huh. And this concerns me because..?"

Giles stepped forward, tired of all the supplication and walking on eggshells. "There's a government organization performing gruesome experiments on demons. And while that may not concern you, it's highly concerning to me. What's your price?"

"Hm." He sat down on the old arm chair and crossed his legs, tapping a finger to his lips. "Well now, that is concerning, isn't it?" He thought for a moment, then tilted his head. "Are you aware of the abomination they've created? I can feel it."

"Three fourteen." Ethan whispered.

Loki nodded. "Indeed. Well, that makes things a little more… Interesting."

"How so?"

"It can't be destroyed by human means. Now, I'm willing to take care of that for you, free of charge. You did get me a whole box of lovely sweets, after all. I'll have some to take home with me. Anything beyond that will cost you." 

He glanced between Giles and Ethan, and a wicked grin spread on his lips. It was extremely unnerving to be looked at that way by a being that could destroy them with a snap of his fingers.

"If I could channel your power, we could resolve the situation easily. Sir."

"Oh, could you now? And what would you do with it after the fact, hm? Tell me. Nobody summons a trickster God for the sake of good."

"If he's lucky enough for me to not kill him once this is over, I would have you take the power back. He's got enough skill to cause trouble without it." 

"Mm. Very well then. I will be keeping an eye on your exploits though. I hope you don't disappoint."

"Name your price."

"Oh, nothing too steep. A bit of entertainment is all I ask for."

Great. That could be nearly anything.

"Of course, my Lord. What would bring you pleasure? Anything you ask, it shall be done."

"I'll loan you my power. But the deal, as always, must be sealed with a kiss." At their confused looks, he grinned. "Between the two of you, of course. And none of that innocent cheek pecking, either. Entertainment. I'll give you until midnight. Any later, and the deal is off. Oh, and Ethan, since I can tell you’re dying to ask, I will absolutely read your fanfiction. Even the ones about me and Svadilfari…. Maybe especially those. He is hung like a horse after all.” He winked and grinned. “Ta, gentlemen."

He disappeared in a cloud of black smoke, leaving Giles flabbergasted. They could have Buffy, safe and sound and… the cost was for him to… With Ethan. It had been years since he'd even allowed himself to think about it. He'd told himself never again.

Loki truly was a mischievous entity.

"Just like old times then, Ripper?" Ethan stepped into his personal space, and Giles was twenty years old again. Nervous and inexperienced and shy and… Quite entranced by the man in front of him.

"Don't… don't call me that." He protested weakly.

This was the cost of business. The cost of Buffy's safety. Possibly her life. And it was just a kiss. Nothing more. So why was his stomach making flips and trying to lodge itself in his throat?

Ethan backed him up, guiding him until his back hit the wall. "What shall I call you, then? Hmm?" 

Lips pressed to his throat while hands splayed across his chest and began to roam. Giles closed his eyes and tilted his head back on instinct, giving Ethan better access to that spot just -there.

"Sweetheart? Or perhaps..."

"Oh, just stop talking already and-" 

***

Finally. He'd been dying for a fight since they'd shoved that bloody chip into his brain, and now… Well, now he was standing shoulder to shoulder with the Slayer, ready to take out some frustrations. He could already feel the thrill building. This was going to be fun.

"Right then, Slayer. Time for you to fly."

"Wha-"

He didn't give her time to think about it, and her body didn't need it. Grabbing her hands, he swung her up and forward, her feet flying out to meet the incoming demon. Then he let go, and she was off, letting loose a perfectly coordinated flurry of blows. God, she could dance, couldn't she? 

He missed that.

No time to admire her, though. He had his own big and ugly to deal with, though that didn't stop him from stealing glances whenever he could. It felt so good to hit something again, and he knew she could feel it too. He could smell it. Made his mouth water. He couldn't wait to get her back to their cell and - 

Focus on the fight, you ponce.

"That's all ya got, ya big bitch?" He let out a laugh as he dodged another punch, jumping back and bouncing on his feet before springing back in to deliver a few hits of his own. "Come on!" 

The bloody beastie was a strong one, wasn’t it? Another laugh bubbled up out of Spike, adrenaline rushing through his body with the vampire version of circulation. The harder they hit, the more intensely they fought, the more he enjoyed it .

The Slayer snap kicked her demon into his, and they pummeled them with blows from either side. It really wasn't even a fair fight. Just good exercise. The demons were still holding their own, but it was only a matter of time.

A hiss, and two axes dropped from the ceiling, landing with a clatter a few feet away. 

Well, well. Looky there.

They both made a dive for the weapons. He managed to grab one and rolled into a stand, but she wasn't so lucky. She'd been thrown sideways, hitting the wall with a crack. 

As much as his instincts told him to go help her, he couldn't. He had his own opponent to deal with, and she could handle herself. He turned his back on her, facing down with the demon.

"Let's dance." 

He went back on the offense, swinging the ax with abandon, hoping to connect with literally any body part. Then he smelled it. Blood. Her blood. Thick in the air. He unleashed a flurry of swipes with the axe, giving himself a chance to glance back over his shoulder. She had a hand clutched to her stomach, and the demon was advancing on her.

Balls. Hold on, Slayer, I'm coming for you.

With a brutal hit, he buried the blade in the demon's chest, but it barely slowed him down. Fine then. Head it was. He brought it down again, connecting with neck. Green slime shot out, which usually meant a severed artery. Good enough.

Buffy was wrestling for the weapon, smashing it into the demon's face and wrenching the ax away. At least she wasn't dead yet, but she needed help. He started running. She swung wide, slicing open the demon's torso. It let out a roar, not stopping the assault. It barreled at her, ready to tackle just as Spike clutched him in an iron grip and held on for all he was worth.

"Neck!"

She brought the blade down hard, hitting her mark. Spike let him fall to the floor, still gurgling as he bled out.

She was hurt. He'd let her get hurt.

His vampire visage melted away as he closed the distance between them and did a quick look over. Blood soaked her shirt and pants. There was a huge tear in the material, as wide as she was. Bruises were already popping up here and there.

Oh, hell. "How bad is it, pet?" He already knew, as he reached for the hem of her shirt, intending to check how deep it was.

And she flinched.

He didn't know why that pissed him off so much, but it did. Or why it hurt. She didn't want him to touch her now? When he was trying to help her? She didn't mind all the touching the night before. Didn't mind cuddling up to him. Until somebody else was watching. Right. That's what it was, then. They still had spectators.

She couldn't be seen accepting help from him. Fine. Let her bleed out, then. At least he'd be able to lap her blood up without the stupid chip firing.

"Right. Forgot. Enemies." He growled the last word at her, revelling at the face she made, internal hurt mixed with the belly wound. "Should have just let him kill you. Least I'd have a decent meal."

He looked up at the glorified hall monitor, who was watching the entire scene play out next to that sadistic bitch.

"Done here. Can we go-"

"Spike..." She touched his arm from behind with blood coated fingers.

"Sod off." 

"That's not - I didn't mean..." 

He didn't want an explanation. He didn't want the ache of rejection in his chest. Didn't want her soft looks and reassurances. Didn't want to want them.

"It… it hurts. I didn't..." She took a deep breath and blew it out, her hand going back to her stomach. "It's bad..." 

Her voice wavered on the last word, making his stomach sink. Before he had a chance to find out exactly how bad, a dart hit him in the back. A second hit her arm, and he struggled to catch her before she hit the ground. He let himself sink with her, draping her across his lap.

"We'll get you fixed up. Don't worry, Slayer."

He pulled her shirt up, finally getting a look at her wound. 

It's just a graze. A big, ugly graze. She'll live. Stay with me, Slayer. Bollocks.

She was already out, her heartbeat slowing. He could feel the drugs starting to affect him, too, but he held out. 

He cradled her body against his as the doors opened up and the soldiers came in, led by the wanker who’d the hots for his Slayer. Surrounded by the enemy, and the Slayer was…. Shallow breaths, and that slowing heartbeat. They’d pumped her full of so many drugs by this point, and she was wounded.

A low growl escaped him, and his fangs descended, the bones in his face shifting as he brought the demon forward. God help him, this was not the end.

It wasn't over. Not yet.


	12. Chapter 12

Her heartbeat was growing stronger, breathing more steady. He sighed his relief. She'd be alright. Might have a nasty scar on that perfect skin of hers, but… at least she was alive.

They’d barely given him any of the sedative at all, just enough to keep him from trying to attack and triggering the chip. He’d almost done it anyway, pointless endeavor or not. Close enough that they’d let him carry the Slayer’s limp body back to their shared cell.

Once there, he'd made her as comfortable as possible, given the circumstances. Which meant he was once again bare chested, with his shirt balled under her head and his duster draped over her like a blanket. She'd been so cold…

He shook himself. As long as she was breathing, it meant she'd be healing. Even if it was slow. The bleeding had stopped. That was a good sign. She's gonna be just fine, so stop worrying. It'll take more than a nick with an axe to kill a Slayer. 

For a while he'd just… Watched over her. Watched the leather rising and falling as she breathed. Watched the little twitches on her face as she dreamed. Watched her jugular pulsing with every heartbeat. Looking for some sign that she'd wake up soon.

Heavy footfalls drew his attention. Boots. So not one of the while coats. A soldier. Probably commander dickbag. Spike shifted into game face. Even if the chip stopped him, he wanted that git to know who's throat was at the top of his list. 

Spike stood and turned to face the door just as Riley came into view, a low growl vibrating in his throat.

"Seventeen."

The look on the soldier’s face as he took in the image in front of him was a weird mixture between resignation and something Spike couldn't quite identify. Lust, maybe. Smelt like it, anyroad. But he had to know he was never gonna get the girl now, no matter how much he wanted it. Had to be a new low for him, considering she'd rather cozy up to a vamp than him.

"Soldier Boy."

"Step away from the door." He pulled a stun stick from his belt and extended it, and Spike had no doubt he'd use it.

Had to be careful of that. Burn wounds from them dragging the Slayer out of his arms still hadn't healed, and he wasn't in the mood to add to them. Didn't stop him from wanting to keep her safe and sound where he could see her though.

"You're not taking her out of here like this. Over my dead body."

"I've seen enough of your dead body. But that's not why I'm here." He held up a backpack. "Supplies. Now back up, or I can make you." 

Well that made things a little different, didn't it. Something to help her heal a little faster? Were they trying their hand at humanity?

He backed up a few paces, but kept himself positioned between the Slayer and the door. He'd meant it. They weren't taking her out of that cell. If they wanted to give her medical attention, they could come in and lock the door behind them.

Riley opened the door and tossed the bag to Spike, harder than absolutely necessary. "There's first aid stuff in there. Gauze, tape. Real food, too. Some power bars. Bottled water."

"Oh, no drugs in this stuff, then?"

"No. With how much blood she lost, it's hard to determine what the dosage-"

"Shouldn't be drugging her at all, you nitwit! You people. You've no idea the things this woman has done. And you treat her like-"

"I'm not getting a lecture about morals from a vampire." He raised the stun stick and pointed it at Spike, just a few inches from his face. "Soulless monsters like you…you sleep just fine, knowing the things you've done."

"Oh, is the tin soldier coming down with a conscience? Something about this not sitting right?"

Riley sighed, lowering his weapon. "Just following orders."

"Yeah, well, sod your orders. Nazis used that excuse, too. Act like you don't know what's right and what's wrong. Piss off."

He turned his back on Riley and started rifling through the bag. A bandage roll would work just fine to clean most of her wounds. Too rough for her stomach though. He'd have to figure something else to use for that.

"I'm not without sympathy for her, you know. I have a-"

"Don't give a damn about your sympathy. Didn't stop you from darting her when… when she was bleeding."

"You don't understand…"

He rounded on Riley, ready to tear his throat out. "You know, I tried to kill her not so long ago. Right after she had a roll with that Parker git. Almost had her, too. Best fight we've had yet." He remembered how royally she'd kicked his ass that time, too. How she'd come back from the brink of defeat with fire and fury and… "You want to explain to me why I'm showing her more mercy than you?"

The soldier swallowed hard and stared at the floor. Didn't have any excuse for that, did he? Why a soulless monster took more interest in her wellbeing than an actual human.

"That's what I thought. Got some wounds need tended. Sod. Off."

He knelt next to the Slayer and went back to digging through the bag, paying no mind to how long the dick stood there watching him. Maybe he'd learn a thing or two about what it meant to have humanity.

Funny, that. Learning common decency from somebody who ate people.

He took stock of what wounds he could clean while she was still asleep. Her knuckles were bloodied up. Not horrible, but blood was blood, and he needed all of it he could get. Nasty cut on her temple, with a bruise to go with it. He'd have to be gentle with that one. It'd be tender. Not that she couldn't take a bit of pain, but… he wondered how bad her back was. Even with her healing, she'd be on the mend for days.

He dumped the contents of the bag out on the floor. Gauze, ace bandages, antibiotic, sport tape, bottles of water, granola bars…No painkillers, of course.

Course not. They just want her alive. Not comfortable. Give her all the tranquilizers she can handle, but can't toss in some bloody aspirin. Wankers.

Well, maybe he could do something about that once she woke up. No way was he even thinking about doing it without permission.

As soon as he pressed a gauze roll to the cut on her forehead, her brow furrowed and she took in a ragged breath. Finally. Her eyes fluttered open, her gaze focusing on him. She tried to sit up and cried out in pain, her hand going to her stomach again.

"Shh, pet. I've got you. Just lay back and relax. I'll get you patched up." He opened a bottle of water and held it to her lips, letting her take a few sips. "Let me know if you need more. Got some snack foods here, too, if you're hungry."

"Why are you being so nice to me? Why not just let me die?"

He wet the gauze and pressed it back to her forehead, dabbing at the cut very gently. "Doesn't really matter, does it? You don't deserve…" He let out a sigh. "Just try not to think about it too much, yeah? I'm not. Just… feels like the right thing to do, is all."

"Why do you care what's right?"

He stopped what he was doing. Why'd she have to keep talking? Asking questions he didn't want to think about the answers to. The answers he didn't have, because he'd been avoiding thinking on them as much as he could for days.

"Stop asking questions, and let me get you fixed up. You're gonna ruin my good nature."

He went back to cleaning the cut, and she winced. Every time he touched it, no matter how careful he was trying to be. There was a better way. If she'd just let him do it.

"Gonna have to get to that wound on your stomach eventually, you know… I could… make it not as bad. Not exactly a pain killer, but… it'll help you relax. You won't mind the pain so much."

She just looked at him with confusion, like she didn't know what he was talking about. Then he realized. The Master, Angelus… they hadn't bothered with it. Of course not. 

"Vampire saliva. Has a kind of euphoric effect. Just needs to get into the blood."

After a long moment, it dawned on him. She wasn't saying no. May as well start small, then. Give her a chance to change her mind on it before it really took effect.

He took one of her hands in his, and a wave of nerves hit him. Nerves. God, he couldn't breathe. Not that he needed to, but… he licked his lips and slowly brought her knuckles to his mouth.

It wasn't a kiss. He knew that. Sure felt like one though. He flicked his tongue out, tasting her directly for the first time and god, was it glorious. All fire and spice and life.

Feeding on a willing Slayer. On her, in that way… he could already feel the charge between them. He knew it was something more. The way her hand fit so perfectly in his, the heat from her body transferring over. 

He was already getting lost in the sensation of it. And to have fresh blood in his mouth, something he never thought he'd have again… 

"Oh… That's… Much nicer than the gauze…" she practically whispered.

Oh, yes it was. 

He held eye contact with her as he took up her other hand and raised it close to his lips. She gave an almost imperceptible nod, and it was all he needed to continue.

He let his eyes slip shut, and forced himself not to moan. Not to growl. Not to whimper at the absolute pleasure she was giving him. He savored every last drop of her that touched his tongue. Every inch. 

When both her hands were spotless, he didn't hesitate to lean close to her and take her upper arm into his mouth and suck on a gash in earnest. She gasped, but didn't pull away. She didn't tell him to stop. God, he didn't want to.

Her blood was already starting to have that particular effect on him, making everything she did more sensual. Which made him want to be on purpose. He wanted her to know just how good he could make her feel with his tongue. He trailed back and forth over the wound, slow and deliberate.

Her breath hitched, and he stole a glance up at her.

Her eyelids were drooped, vision unfocused and eyes glossed over. Her cheeks had flushed a lovely crimson and her lips were parted and glistening. Her tongue darted out and wet then again. His gaze lingered there, a notion hitting him.

He wanted to kiss her. Not… have endless foreplay with her blood. He wanted to devour her. All those fantasies he'd been having about her paled in comparison to the real thing. Shame she didn't have a split lip, or a teensy cut on her throat. Be a damn good excuse, wouldn't it?

Not that she looked like she needed one at this point. She was every bit as drunk on the euphoria as he was on her. 

Good a time as any.

He got on his hands and knees and practically crawled down her body, looking her in the eyes as he did so. She stared back, her chest heaving. Poised over her stomach, his muscles were trembling with the anticipation. Every breath he took shook in his lungs. 

A heady scent wafted up. Blood and excitement and desire mixed with fear. And it was all her. His Slayer.

He had to resist the urge to pull her shirt up with his teeth, instead reaching up a shaky hand. He nudged the material out of the way to reveal perfect skin stained with a veritable feast.

She whimpered. From the pain, or something else?

"Relax, Slayer. Gonna take care of you." Don't say anything else, you wanker. 

His mouth was watering. Good. More saliva, more good feelings for her.

He ran his tongue lightly over the full length of the cut. She gasped, arching up toward his mouth just a bit before sinking back down. He smiled to himself and did it again. She tensed beneath him, holding in whatever noises she'd felt the urge to make.

He raised his head, taking in the sight of her laid out beneath him.

The little vixen. Not worth a second go? Bollocks. When they got out of there he was going to hunt that idiot college boy down, then find Angel and kick his ass. They had no idea what they'd tossed aside.

She brought one leg up, wrapping it up over his shoulder and bringing his mouth back down to her stomach. Those long, powerful legs. He couldn't have resisted if he'd wanted to. And god, did he not want to. 

Oh, you've got no idea what you're doing to me. No clue what I want to do to you.

His mouth descended again with enthusiasm, licking and kissing and… Wandering. Lower on her stomach, to her hip bones, nipping with blunt teeth at the ridge. The taste of her skin nearly as intoxicating as her blood, and he couldn’t seem to stop himself from sampling. Not that she seemed to mind his ministrations at all.

Every little gasp and moan she let escape made him harder. Her hips rocked very slowly, grinding against his chest, making him wonder... God, he could. He wanted to. Wanted her. All of her. It would be so easy. Keeping going down. Bury his face in the heated wetness between her legs. And then, after she’d….

He shuddered and tried to get himself under control. If he bollocksed this up, she'd never let him near her again. He wasn't sure he hadn't ruined it already. Didn't know whether to stop or keep going. Worst thing she could do was deny him. Scorn him. Least until they got out of there, then she could dust him. 

And he'd bloody well let her at that point.

"Buffy…" 

He moaned out her name, his voice full of desire and desperation and need. For her.

Her fingers splayed in his hair, then curled and tugged and beckoned him upward. He kissed his way up her stomach, over her breasts. He propped himself up, careful not to press against the wound. 

Her thighs spread as he moved, and he nestled his hips between them. God. So close. So hard to keep his hips still. He planted kisses across her collar bone, until his lips finally settled at the base of her throat. He sucked and nipped her pulse point and pressed his groin against hers.

"Ngh..." 

"God, love those little noises you make…" He kissed her throat, just below her ear, eliciting more of those soft little sighs she'd been making before. 

He couldn’t hold back anymore. He rocked his hips, relishing the friction. A fire had ignited, burning him slowly from the inside. He needed her. Needed to feel her surrounding him. All around him. Needed the air thick with her scent. Wanted every other demon in that place to know his name. To know she wasn't to be touched. That she was his.

"Buffy…" 

"S-Spike… We… Can't… Not here…"

And there it was. The other shoe he'd known would drop at some point. She'd finally come to her senses, realized what they were about to do, and put a stop to it. He stilled his movements, trying desperately to catch his breath. To reel himself in and regain control. 

What the hell was happening to him? To her?

He rested his head against her chest, not ready to look her in the eye. He couldn't tell which he was feeling more at that moment- relief or regret. 

Regret that it had happened, or relief that it hadn't gone further? Or was it the other way around? He couldn't tell any more.

"Sorry to interrupt." Captain Cardboard was back again, with the most perfect timing as always. "Walsh wants her to have a real meal. But you two are obviously busy. I'll come back later."

"Yeah, why don't you do that?” Spike snarled hoarsely. “Sod off, soldier boy. In the middle of something here."

Sighing, he pulled away from Buffy and walked to the door. He didn't miss the bloke's line of sight, eyeing Spike's obvious arousal, then looking to the slayer, splayed out on the floor, looking every bit like she was in pure bliss.

"Give me the food for her. She needs it." 

"Don't try anything funny. I open this door, you take it, that's it. Got it?"

"Oh, no. You've gone and ruined all my plans with those orders." He rolled his eyes. "Just giving her what she needs, mate. Right now, that would be nourishment. Hand it over."

Riley sighed, then opened the door just enough for Spike to snatch the bag of food from his hand before sauntering back over to the Slayer. He helped pull her up into a sitting position and pulled a burger from the bag. 

He sat down while unwrapping it, then handed it to her. He looked around, reaching for a roll of gauze and an ace bandage.

"Sorry… About that… Won't happen again, pet. Was just… buzzed on the blood, or… Here, let's finish getting you patched up…"

He couldn't look her in the eye. Couldn't face whatever he'd find there. She'd either look at him with disgust or fear or hatred… And he couldn't take that.

"Wasn't just you..."

Her voice was too soft. Too kind.

He let out a harsh laugh. "Yeah, see how you feel about it when that stuff wears off." He pressed the gauze to her stomach and brought one of her hands up to hold it there while he fiddled with the bandage wrap. "Dust me for it when we get out of here if you want."

She didn't wince from the pain as he wrapped her stomach, he noticed. 

"I don't want to."

He finally brought himself to look at her. Her eyes were still glossed over, but… she was aware. Not lost in it.

"What's that mean, then?" He tilted his head, forcing himself to not smile at her. To not absolutely beam.

"Does it have to mean anything?"

"No," he answered too quickly, then kicked himself for it. "You. You eat. Drink that water. I'm just…" he took in a deep breath and let it out. "I'm gonna go over here and get my thoughts, yeah?" 

"Okay."

"Right then."


	13. Chapter 13

It wasn't hard to find the place he was looking for once he'd honed in on the energy of the abomination. 

Abomination…. It was a word the other Aesir had used often enough to speak of three of Loki’s children. Jormungandr, Fenris, and his darling girl Hel. They weren’t abominations. Merely misunderstood. 

But this… creature? This travesty committed against demon kind? A true abomination. Order and chaos. Two forces that twisted and twined together as part of all that was natural and right. Chaos could be tamed. Order could be upended. But each always, always danced to its own tune. 

And now a supposed servant of order had reached into the dance of chaos to pluck forth bits and pieces, slapping them together with the confidence born of being oh so certain that she knew what she was doing.

He'd half a mind to find the woman responsible and give her a fitting punishment, but… he'd let the lover mages handle that. It was, after all, part of the bargain.

He popped in, easy as could be. For all their security protocols, they hadn't bothered with even the simplest of protection or warding spells. Knowing the kinds of things they got up to, it wasn't surprising. Probably saw magic use as a sign of demonic whatever. Simpletons.

Monitors beeped steadily, computers whirring all around the room. The lights flickered when he appeared, everything in the room pausing for just a moment before continuing as if nothing had happened. Like a God hadn't just materialized out of thin air.

And there, on a table in the middle of it all, was the centerpiece. A testament to humanity's lust for power. Part human, part machine. Many parts of demons without a care what they truly were. A patchwork of shoddy stitching and the marvel of technology. Loki was sure that this thing was the pride and joy of somebody's life work. 

A very disturbed somebody.

Normally, he stayed out of human affairs. They were occasionally entertaining, and offered sweets and such. But this creature… well, there was only one thing to be done about it. As sad as that was. 

The air crackled, and the lights went out completely. Bolts of lightning sprang forth, flying around the room and striking the creature. It only took a moment, and it was done.

The computers and monitors sent jolts of electricity flying from their damaged parts. The beeping and whirring had stopped. And the Frankenstein creature on the table? 

Well… 

Toast. With jelly on the side.

A wicked grin spread across Loki's face as a siren started blaring overhead. With that taken care of, it was probably about time to pop back in on the gents who'd summoned him. A snap of his fingers, and then he was gone.

A moment later…

The sound of flesh meeting flesh and the pleasured sounds that accompanied such things met his ears. It seemed that sealing their deal hadn't stopped with a kiss.

Excellent. Nothing more chaotic than a man giving in to his primal desires. 

Loki had intended only to open a door with his request. Not an entire flood gate. No matter, of course. The more the reserved man gave in, the more entertainment there would be.

"Pardon the interruption, gentlemen." The sounds came to a sudden halt at the sound of his voice. "Merely wanted to inform you, the matter with three fourteen has been resolved, as promised. And I can see that you're holding up your end, so to speak. Very nice view, by the way. I can see the appeal."

Rupert smirked at that comment. Hmm. Something certainly had shifted in him, hadn't it?

"I'll leave this here and be out of your hair. A locket. Containing all the oomph you could possibly need. Enjoy, gentlemen. Although, you clearly don't need my permission for such things."

***

It had two days since he'd been able to check in on her and smuggle her some real food from the mess hall. Walsh hadn't said anything about it, but he knew she knew. She always did. But Buffy couldn't keep living on pre-chewed, practically liquid soup whatever forever, and now that she was really hurt, she'd need the nutrition more than ever.

He'd tried to keep himself distracted. Occupied. Any reason not to think about… any of it. Not about watching her take that hit, and then get up and keep fighting while she bled. Not about the vampire, fighting to keep her away from them. Him carrying her back to their shared cell. Or anything that happened after.

But for all his attempts to not think about it, it was all that was on his mind.

Which was why he'd agreed to the party. He was obligated now. He knew that, and it was too late to cancel it. But truth be told, he wasn't much in the partying mood. Even if there were cute girls there that nervously stuttered and made sidelong glances at him while biting their bottom lip. So he'd decided to stay in his room, feigning illness, and think things over. He couldn't avoid it any longer.

The vampire's words had struck a chord. Saying he was no better than a nazi. That he knew right from wrong. And the thing was… he'd made a good point. Taking Buffy in like that, it hadn't set right from the very beginning. She seemed so human, he couldn't believe she was anything but. Couldn't see her as a monster. Not the way the others did. Not the way Walsh did. And he did know, deep down, that her being in there wasn't right.

But he was just a foot soldier. Commander, with no real authority. No control over what the others did. And as long as they were doing it to monsters, Walsh didn't care. And for a while, Riley hadn't either. After all, they were just… Murderers, or worse. Who cared if they got roughed up a little more than necessary, as long as they were in good enough shape for Engleman to take apart and study.

It was for the greater good, right? Keeping civilians safe. Learn weaknesses and use them. So that less lives were lost, and people could walk safely at night.

But with Buffy…

According to what he'd read about Slayers, she was the good guy. The best weapon in the world against vampires and demons and all the things that went bump in the night. And with her locked in the Initiative, how many people had died unnecessarily? Had they saved as many as she would have? Something in the back of his mind told him… Sunnydale needed her out there.

The world needed her.

She wasn't like anybody he'd ever met before. She was more. And even if she was the Slayer or whatever, she didn't belong in a lab, superhuman strength or not. He realized that now, a bit too late. Much too late. And in the struggle to reconcile that with the situation at hand…

He'd decided to help her. Somehow. How, he wasn't entirely sure. He'd have to plan, and let her know somehow what he was going to do, and there were so many risks and obstacles. Security cameras, guards, witnesses, locked doors that required specific codes to get through. Everything would have to go perfectly. 

And when did that ever happen?

He didn't know what he could do at that point to make up for everything she'd gone through. Everything he'd caused. Getting her out in one piece would be a good start, right? Then she could thank him for reaching her, and he could get her to a safe house, and she could start forgiving him. He still held out hope that maybe, when it was all over and done with, that maybe… Just maybe… she might be inclined to kiss him like she had before.

Even if she had let the vampire touch her. Slayers were supposed to kill demons. Not socialize with them and let them… she let him feed from her. Willingly gave him blood. And not just… not like the first time. But still...

She was just in a bad situation, he reminded himself. Certain things were to be expected. She was using the vampire as a coping mechanism, that was all. Taking comfort where she could get it. And the vampire was starving. He'd do whatever he had to, to get fresh blood. Even if that meant cozying up to somebody he claimed to want dead.

What he'd seen, though… he tried to push it from his mind. The way she'd looked, laid out under that bleach blonde parasite while he grinded himself against her. How pliant and blissful and… like she was enjoying it as much as the vampire. Maybe more. She hadn't even tried to make an excuse for it.

Somehow, over the course of just a couple of weeks… seventeen had wormed his way into her, getting her to trust him.

"Riley?" 

There was a knock on his door, jarring him from his thoughts. The voice on the other side was so familiar. Willow, he realized. A wave of panic shot through him. It was bad enough seeing her in class every day, knowing the things that were happening to her best friend. But being alone in the same room together? He wasn't sure he could keep himself composed for that.

Not right now, with so much on his mind.

"Can I come in? It's… really important."

"I'm not feeling real great right now," he lied, "Can it wait?" 

He jumped out of bed and tiptoed over to the door, pressing his weight against it to keep her from trying to open it. He could have just turned the lock, but he didn’t want her to hear. 

"Not really?" She paused a beat, then continued. "it's about that assignment for professor Walsh's class? I could really use some advice on it."

"Can I do a raincheck? Meet you tomorrow for lunch or something?" Somewhere more public at least, where he could look anywhere but in her eyes.

He'd been able to avoid talking to her for weeks. Skirting out of the lecture hall before she'd even had her books gathered. Ducking into doorways when he'd seen her coming. Taking meals at different times. But now, it seemed, his luck had run out and he'd have to face her.

"Uh, yeah. That sounds great. Can I meet you here and we can go someplace else?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sure, Willow. Um, three o'clock? I'll be free then."

"I'll see you then." Silence. Not even the sound of her walking away. Then, "Feel better."

Guilt stabbed at him, and he almost opened the door to call her back. What would he even say to her? To the girl who had threatened him with a shovel when he’d gone to her, asking how to win Buffy’s heart? I know you were worried I might hurt her, but you don’t understand. She’s super strong, so I thought she was some kind of monster.

Yeah, great idea. Reveal his own secret to a civilian while also filling Buffy’s best friend in on her secret. God, he couldn’t do this. But what choice did he have? He was her TA. He had to meet with her. And when he did…. If she asked about Buffy….

He wouldn’t be able to lie to her. Not looking her right in the face while she anxiously worried about her friend. If she asked… he’d tell her everything.

***

She'd managed to act almost normal about it. Not at all like she was leading Riley to a trap, or engaging in subterfuge or anything suspicious at all. She was just a college student, meeting with her TA to discuss an upcoming class related thing. Maybe she needed it explained more clearly? Or maybe she needed advice on what that lying bitch Walsh expected? 

God, it had been so hard to keep attending that class, not hexing the harpy every chance she had. Acting like the woman in front of her wasn't holding Buffy hostage. And doing whatever horrible, unspeakable, unthinkable things to her. 

Willow still wasn't entirely convinced that Riley was actively involved. He'd been trying to woo Buffy right before all this. Talk to her. Get her trust. Even asked Willow for advice about it! Why go through all that if he was just going to… 

Was it just part of a cover, like secret agents always had? And he'd done it to throw her off the trail? She was so confused. By everything. 

But she trusted Tara. Her instincts. She'd said Riley's sweater was the one from her vision. That even if he weren't directly involved in whatever was happening, he had to know something useful. Probably a lot useful.

And that meant bringing him to Giles and Ethan, for a truth spell. They'd get to the bottom of things. Figure out what was what and who was who.

She led Riley up into the courtyard, and could see Giles waiting just inside. Ready to… Do whatever he had planned to subdue Riley long enough to tie him to a chair. Maybe some kind of spell. She was uneasy about it all, but watching a new spell was at least something to look forward to. Along with hopefully making progress on rescuing Buffy.

"This -- this is where I get all of my good studying done,” she babled, trying to keep Riley from thinking anything was weird. “Kind of a, a home away from home!" She opened the door slowly, then gestured for Riley to go in before her. "Make yourself comfortable. We've got-" 

And as soon as he stepped over the threshold, Giles clubbed him over the head with a metal pipe. He fell to the floor in a heap, thankfully far enough inside that she wouldn't have to help drag him the rest of the way. 

"A crowbar. We've got a crowbar. Giles, did you really need a crowbar?"

She knew there was a darker side to the ex-Watcher, but this? He’d just… whacked him over the head without even asking anything.

"I've got a mace, as well. Well, Ethan's got it. We were really expecting him to put up some kind of fight. Nevertheless. Thank you, Willow. We'll take it from here." 

"I-I thought I could help with the truth spell…"

"I think you'll find that entirely unnecessary. Ethan and I are… Plenty capable, I assure you. I'll call you when we have information. Until then…"

“Oh… uh, yeah.” She nodded, feeling weird and unnerved. She’d been hoping to help with some magic. Not to just deliver Riley to… whatever this was. "I… I know, keep researching. I got it."

"Yes." He gave her a quick smile. "We'll get to the bottom of this. And get Buffy back. Until then, all any of us can do is keep working on the leads we have."

That… sort of made sense, she supposed. Everybody had their own little projects they were working on. She and Tara had the spell researching, which Anya was supposed to be helping with but she and Xander were busy doing… things that were better left not imagining. 

And she'd thought Giles would have sent Ethan packing once he gave up the information he had but… there was something weird going on there, too. She got the kind of vibe… no. Giles wouldn't. 

She put the thought from her mind. There was no way Giles would be delving back into the kind of magic he and Ethan used to get into. It was too dangerous, and he knew that. He was just feeling the effects of the stress, or something. That's why he hadn't wasted time with Riley.

"Good luck, Giles. I'm gonna go meet up with Tara. She said she had something for me, so maybe it'll be good news."

"We can only hope." He paused, looking down at the unconscious body on his floor, then back up at her. "Now, if you don't mind, we've got work to do."

"Oh, yeah. Of course. I'll, just, uh… I'll just go?"

He shut the door in her face without another word, and the sound of the locks clicking into place followed immediately after. The whole thing left her feeling even more disturbed than the way he'd knocked Riley out. She couldn't help but wonder what exactly he meant by 'work'.

She stood there staring at the locked door for a long moment before finally deciding that… Well, it was Giles. It wasn't like he was going to just kill somebody, right? He probably just figured they were on a time limit before Riley woke back up, and wanted to have him tied up before then.

And being that Riley was pretty big, and probably heavy, and Giles and Ethan weren't exactly the heavy lifting types… Getting Riley dragged up onto a chair was going to be difficult. Right?

Right!

She shook the worry from her mind, trying to focus on more positive things. A meet up with Tara, which meant magic would happen. And maybe she'd finally get up the courage to tell her… 

And if not, they'd still be spending time together, which was always of the good. And maybe they'd come across a spell to like, freeze a bunch of people in place? Something helpful to Buffy.

She turned and walked away, a little pep in her step now. Everything was going to be fine.

***


	14. Chapter 14

When Willow had called to tell him that Tara’s vision had finally yielded results, weeks later, he’d hardly believed it. Something as simple as a knitting pattern had led them to a suspect. Well, a knitting pattern, a sorority party, and some suspicious behavior. Barely enough to say 'that's our man'. But when it was fully explained, Giles had not a doubt in his mind that the young man now tied to a chair could lead them to Buffy. 

He was Walsh’s teaching assistant, and they seemed to have a close personal relationship. He’d also expressed an interest in Buffy, just before she’d been taken. Despite the ethical concerns of trying to date someone when he graded their papers. He’d tried to earn her trust, asked Willow about her, and the like.

Giles spent hours, watching and waiting for the young man to awaken, considering all the things he might have to say. And the more he thought, the more those dark tendencies seemed… logical. Understandable. Unavoidable.

If Riley was directly involved, especially. 

There were no lengths Giles wouldn't go to for his Slayer. He'd seen her through her own prophesied death, watched her avert more than one apocalypse, trained her and guided her from adolescence into adulthood. More than her watcher, he liked to think of himself as, well, a father. As much as that cunt of a woman Walsh wanted to say otherwise, and would soon know.

Buffy was everything to him. And he was going to get her back, whatever the cost. The time for researching and hoping for a clue was over. Action was needed. And if the action required to secure her safety was the torturing of one Riley Finn, then it was a small price to pay in comparison to the things that had already been done.

Giles would deal with the personal consequences of his activities later. His Slayer needed him, and he would not fail her. Not this time. And not ever again. 

He'd been meticulous in the set up of his instruments of persuasion. The ritual of it was what would help him find his center, maintain his self control. It always had, back when he had still been in an official capacity. He laid them out on the desk, perfectly aligned, cloth beneath them to catch any stray fluids once the bloke eventually woke up. 

A truth spell may have been more straightforward, but… 

But this is more fun.

That, he couldn't deny. Something about the righteous feeling of making sure somebody got exactly what they deserved. And anybody involved in the Initiative, with Buffy's capture… deserved no mercy.

The soldier took in a ragged breath and moaned, finally starting to come to. Good. Enough time had been wasted as it was. It was bloody well time to get some answers.

"Ah, there he is." Giles approached him, smiling warmly. "I was beginning to think you'd sleep the night away." Riley's eyes fluttered open, his head lolling back and forth as he regained consciousness. "Would say I'm terribly sorry about that welcome I gave you, but… well, I'm not."

"Where am I?" he asked, looking around the flat with a look of utter confusion on his face. "Where's Willow?"

"Call it an interrogation room, for all intentions. I believe you have information I want. And you will give it to me."

The younger man blinked a few times, his brow furrowing. "I don't know... what you're talking about…"

Giles knew he hadn't hit the man hard enough to cause a concussion or memory loss, or any real damage for that matter. The fact that he felt good enough to lie was evidence enough. With enough study, the tells of an untruthful person became quite clear to the practiced eye. And Giles could tell...

He'd find out what the boy knew, one way or another. 

"Mm. Well, I've got intelligence that says otherwise. You do indeed know, and you will tell me. That is not a polite suggestion."

It had been years since he’d really given in to his darker desires. Not since Ethan had made those bloody chocolate bars, but then he’d been focused on enjoyment, not revenge. Now though, with his focus solely on what it would take to bring Buffy back to him, back to Joyce, those dark desires had taken a turn to places he’d never fully allowed himself to go.

It pulled at him, the desire to just let go and give in. It was who he had been for so many years of his life…. The part of himself he’d tried so hard to rein in and deny. If he just let go, let it out on this one foolish man who had taken his girl….

He took confident strides to the table, and picked up his most favored item on the line up. He slid his fingers through the metal rings, loving the feel of the cool metal against his skin.. His specially crafted brass knuckles. Though, they weren’t really brass. Iron, engraved with a series of runes that did all kinds of nasty things to the target. Especially effective against vampires, all sorts of demons, and the like. He couldn’t help but wonder, what would they do to an average human?

"Something very precious was taken from me…" his words were practically a growl as he approached his captive. He raised Riley’s chin, forcing him to look into his eyes. He could see the fear there, but underneath… "You know where she is."

"Who… I don't even know who you are! Who's she?"

Metal and magic connected with ribs, singing the material of his shirt on contact. Riley let out a yelp, recoiling. Giles wasn't bothering with a slow and steady increase in pain. Why pull punches? The faster Riley figured out that he wasn't going to receive any mercy, the faster he would talk. Hopefully.

Ripper was not known for his patience, and he was chomping at the bit to be let out to play. Giles could feel the careful control beginning to slip. This man in front of him knew Buffy. Knew where she was. How to get there, and how to get her out. The more he denied it, the worse it was going to end.

It already wasn't going to end well.

"I belonged to a group of international experts on the supernatural. Magic. Demons. Vampires. I know how to deal with them all. I was fired from that organization because of how far I was willing to go to protect the girl you took. Now give her back to me, before I burn your world down around you."

"I don't know what you're talking about! Just let me go!"

Riley struggled against his bindings, not realizing how futile it was. They'd been magically reinforced. Knives, scissors… Nothing would break them. Certainly not the squirming of a young man.

"The sooner you tell me what I want to know, the better it will be for you. You seem to think that holding out like this...will frustrate me. Make me lose focus, perhaps. The more you resist, the more creative I get." 

He knelt down in front of Riley, a mocking smile on his face. Then very slowly, he pressed the runes into Riley's thigh, allowing the magic to burn through the material and into his skin.

He didn't stop when the boy started screaming. Or when he started thrashing, trying to get away. Only when he finally started to beg, to cry, Giles removed the metal from his skin. 

"See, this was a gift from an old friend of mine. Arthur. He said that, for a man of my skill, such an item would have many uses in my lifetime. I daresay he was right."

He gave Riley a few minutes to compose himself as much as could be expected, taking the time to wipe the burned skin carefully from the metal. Perhaps now, with a taste of what was to come, he'd come to see how pointless all the protesting and lying was.

"The most painful part of the body to be burned is the feet. Did you know that, Mr. Finn?"

"Please, sir. Please. Please don’t do this.”

“I wonder…” Giles mused coldly, as he removed a boot from the younger man, “Has she asked your lot for mercy? Begged you to stop what you’re doing to her?”

The scent of burning flesh and echoing of screams filed his ears, but somehow… he found himself entirely unaffected by it. Ripper wanted blood, and he would have it.

***

Ethan went in, quiet as a mouse, to check on how things were coming along. He knew from personal experience how persuasive the ministrations of Ripper could be, whether for pain or pleasure. Ethan looked over to the table, surprised to see just how much of the arsenal had already been used. Obviously, the young man didn’t know what was good for him, and wasn’t talking just yet. He would soon, though. Ethan would make sure of it.

He glanced over Riley, assessing just how bad things were. His wounds weren’t overly grotesque, but something about what had been done to the boy’s face…. With all the random bits of swelling, he almost didn’t look like the same person he’d seen earlier. Ripper had been a busy man, indeed. He'd guess as much, from all the screaming over the last few hours, but this… This was a work of art.

The muscle bound soldier bloke was positively painted in his own blood. Tiny little cuts up and down his torso, it must have hurt to even take a breath. There were oddly shaped little burn marks here and there. Sort of square, but all in a row. A rather interesting pattern, really.

Ethan walked over to the armchair and rested against it, crossing his arms and watching as Ripper wiped his hands clean of blood. He could see it. In the way he carried himself, the way he set his jaw, the almost hidden half smirk, the tousled hair. Giles was taking a backseat. Shame for the poor young man, who probably had no clue what he’d unleashed with his refusal to talk.

"Enjoying yourself, darling?" he emphasized the last word, playfully mocking the nature of their relationship.

"Oh, hardly. I've only just begun, he took so long to wake up." Ripper moved on to cleaning his tools, tucking each one into its place once it was free of whatever gore clung to it.

"Who are you people?"

Ethan clapped his hands, grinning broadly at the bloke. "Excellent question! I'm a worshipper of chaos. A powerful mage, actually. And him? Well, he's-"

"Just getting started. Tell me what I want to know."

Ethan needed to get this to end quickly. As much as he loved chaos, death was not on the list of enjoyable things. Death wasn’t chaotic. It was the only thing more assured in life than taxes. But getting one of their own to flip? Getting him to tell them everything he knew? That would cause chaos in itself. Ethan walked slowly, deliberately, circling the room until he came to stand just behind Riley. He knelt down, until he was only an inch away from his ear.

“I am trying to help you.”

"What you see is a... Stuffy old librarian. Calm, collected, meek at times. But that's just a cover, and a good one. Nobody ever suspects the things he's done. In my experience, the quiet, meek sorts - like, say, a former high school librarian - are only quiet because they're busy imagining your slow and agonizing demise."

Ethan's gaze met Ripper's, a knowing look there. He made sure Riley saw it, too. If he didn’t talk soon, Ethan had very little doubt he’d be helping hide a body before daylight came. It was, therefor, in everybody’s best interest that he told them whatever he knew, and quickly. A point he was trying very hard to drive home to this very stupid young man.

"You see that little glint in his eyes? You think this is the first time he's tortured somebody? Or the second? No. And he enjoys it." Ripper threw a punch, not bothering to hold back, emphasizing exactly how little he cared for Riley's life at that moment. Ethan didn't even flinch. "You took the most precious thing in the world from him. And I'm sorry to say... Mercy and forgiveness are not strong suits for him. I would know." 

He held a wrist up where Riley could see it, the marks from the handcuffs still easily visible. Still angry and red. "This is what he does to an old friend. Just think what he'd do to the likes of you. Don't look to me to help you. I've done all I can for you by being his earlier punching bag. That may have taken just enough of the edge off to keep him from killing you... Too quickly, anyway."

Riley slumped a bit in the chair, his head dropping.

“Don’t...don’t kill me. Please. I’ll tell you what i know. All of it. Just, please. Don’t let him kill me.”

***

Small kindnesses. That was all the bloody git was getting, and only because Ethan was providing it. All of this was his fault. Every last bit of it. The weeks of Joyce worrying for her child. The wondering if she was alive or dead. The searching and hoping and… Every last bit. He’d been the one to tell Walsh of Buffy’s abilities. He’d been the one to lead the team that took her in. The same team that had initially captured Spike. 

Ethan had had to stop Giles from committing a murder. It was a bad day when that was the face of reason. He’d had some time to… adjust. Just slightly away from homicidal parent, and settling on slightly unhinged. 

The only thing that was keeping him stable was that they’d need the soldier to get into the base, and to get to Buffy. At least he seemed willing enough now. It wouldn’t earn him his freedom just yet. Not until Giles had some time to look over the maps he’d drawn and the information he’d given them.

He was still trying to process everything he’d been told. Because when that wanker had finally spilled, it had been like a floodgate opening up.

Buffy was very much alive, and in fairly good health. Minus a wound from an axe, but that should be healing nicely. She’s always been a fast healer, even for a Slayer. She was no longer being continually dosed with sedatives, so she’d have clarity of mind and body to be able to run when she needed to. Thank goodness for that. And since an unfortunate accident in one of their secure laboratories… Buffy was being treated far more humanely than before. 

It seemed Walsh had plans for her that required her to be alive, as horribly disturbing as that was.

Into every generation a slayer is born: one girl in all the world, a chosen one. She alone will wield the strength and skill to fight the vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness; to stop the spread of their evil and the swell of their number. She is the Slayer. 

For thousands of years, that one girl had done as destiny demanded, and sacrificed her life to keep the world safe. No life of her own, no future, no distractions. And Buffy had been the one to break those traditions, and carve her own destiny out, and to thrive. A miracle, really. And those bleeding idiots had her caged like a lab rat, without any idea or care as to the consequences of their actions.

Then there was the matter of Spike, who’d seemed to have taken a particular interest in Buffy since their incarceration. Riley hadn’t wanted to be very forthcoming with details on that. At first. Then the things he'd said we're hardly believable.

Spike had been recaptured, of all places, just outside Buffy's cell. He'd gone into the Initiative after her, which made not a lock of sense no matter which way Giles looked at it. Moreover, he'd been protecting Buffy. Keeping the other soldiers away from her as much as he could. He'd taken beatings in her stead. Tending her wounds, making her comfortable. He'd gone so far as to give up his beloved duster. What was more… Buffy didn't seem to mind, according to Riley. She seemed to be growing attached. Dependent, almost.

As far as Giles could tell, Spike was doing it to gain her trust. Get close to her, and get her to let her guard down around him. So that when he could attack again…

She'd never see it coming. And he'd have his third Slayer. 

But the initial why he went in after her in the first place remained a mystery. Spike was impulsive on his best day, but… It still made no sense why he would be putting himself in peril initially. The whole situation was a migraine waiting to happen, and Giles didn't have time to ponder the why part of it.

First and foremost, he'd have to get some rest. Tomorrow was another day of Buffy in captivity, and there was much groundwork to lay for her rescue. He'd deal with Spike, and Riley as well, once she was safe and the Initiative effectively shut down.


	15. Chapter 15

Three days. Three long days of side glances and soft touches and little contented sighs and...

They hadn't talked about what had happened between them. Or, what had very nearly happened until Buffy realized that, one, sex with an open wound was probably not such a great idea, and two, there were about a hundred demons in that hallway and at least ten had a direct line of sight into her cell. It was weird to think that if Spike were less of a gentleman, he could have tried to convince her rather than taking no for an answer. She was sure there were ways to not be seen. 

He could have shielded her with his duster, for example. Opened up the secret toilet and used it as a seat and let her wear the coat. The fact that she'd spent a good amount of time after she'd come down from the euphoria high thinking of all the ways they could have sex without anything being seen should have been… at least a little bit of a concern to her? A red flag that said 'you're getting too close!'? Her Slayer sense should have been screaming at her. Danger. Vampire. Kill it.

Yeah, not so much. 

She couldn’t explain it, exactly. She really should have been freaked out by what had happened. But… truth be told, she’d been attracted to Spike since he’d first come to town, back when he really did want to kill her. As screwed up as that was. But she’d figured, you know, she was just a teenager then. The whole mysterious bad boy thing was like, her thing back then. Their second meeting, at the school, when he’d run his hand down his stomach… It had sent all kinds of shivers through her. The way he said he felt all manly…

He’d done the same gesture when he had the Gem of Amara, when he asked about Parker. And the more she thought back on that whole conversation, and their fight, the more it seemed like maybe Spike had just been jealous. Maybe a little mad. That growl when he’d slammed her into the light post was far more possessive than aggressive. It was practically a purr. And it made so much more sense now. 

It was pretty much always like that, whenever they’d inevitably meet up to kick each other’s asses. He was always making comments, and they were always suggestive. She was always calling him a pig, but… Well, Mr. Gordo was a pig and he was all soft and cuddly and comforting, so how much of an insult was that, really? Really, it was just two long years of foreplay, and what happened between them had been an eventuality. Not a question of if, but when.

And therein was the thing her mind kept swirling around. The when. And she couldn’t put that into words. She didn’t know what she wanted. She didn’t know what would happen when they got out. She didn’t even know what would happen from one day to the next. They could rip him away from her in an instant, and she’d never see him again, and that terrified her. She’d grown attached. And she liked what they had. It was comfortable, and it brought her a sense of security and confidence. Like no matter what Walsh wanted to throw at her, she could face it, as long as Spike was there. Without him, she wasn’t so sure of that.

“What’s keeping you up tonight, Slayer?” 

“Brain won’t shut up.” she replied simply, trying not to think too hard about how tingly his voice was making her feel. Especially since she was thinking about how tingly it had made her feel when she’d been a stupid sixteen-year-old with no sense. As opposed to a now twenty-year-old with possibly less than no sense. 

“What’s on your mind?”

She sighed, trying to think of how to word everything. It would be so simple to just say, I can’t stop thinking about the other day. Simple, but not easy, and it would complicate things more than they already were. She couldn’t have a relationship with him, and she wasn’t even sure she wanted one. She wasn’t one for unattached, one night stands either. The whole awful mess with Parker had proved that. So where did that leave them? How was she supposed to address that with him? How was she supposed to ask him about how he felt?

“A lot of things,” she finally replied. Vague. “Too many things.” More of the super vague.

He shifted behind her, adjusting his legs so he could pull her back flush against his chest. It used to calm her down, when he did that. Now it just made her think about… how good it felt when their skin was touching in a different way, and how much better it could feel if she’d just let it happen. But she couldn’t. Not now. 

“Tell me.”

God, his voice was like silk, almost a purr, but full of command, and it pooled low in her gut. Which was exactly what she’d wanted to avoid. It made it harder to think, harder to make words. And when he started trailing his fingers lightly up and down her arms, she couldn’t help but lean her head back against his collar bone. She didn’t realize she’d bared her throat to him until his lips pressed against her pulse point. She took in a sharp breath, her heart leaping in her chest.

No, no, no. Bad Buffy.

“Spike, I-” I can’t do this. She wanted to pull away from him, clear her head enough to put her thoughts into words. Words that wouldn't hurt him, because somehow… She cared about that now. She huffed out a breath, trying to steel herself. "I don't know what we are anymore."

"Know what you mean." He sighed, then settled his arms on his knees. At least he wasn't doing the gentle arm stroking any more. That made it easier for her to think. "I want you. That much is obvious." He let out an exasperated laugh. "Know I shouldn't. Know how wrong that is, for us. I'm not an idiot."

"That makes two of us then. But I can't…" 

"Don't tell me you can't sleep with a vampire. I know otherwise."

"That's not-" Why was it so hard for her to just say it? "I can't do… casual."

"Right..."

He went quiet, and she let it be. He wasn't shoving her off of him, or telling her she was a tease or a prude or anything else she'd been afraid of. He was just… there. Like he'd been for the last few weeks. Still being her comfort in a world of terrible things. 

And she had no idea how to feel about that. It almost… it almost felt like being with Angel again, but different. Peaceful. There wasn’t all the veiled… everything. With Angel, it was like he went nuts in a bridal shop. Veiled intentions. Meanings. Melodrama. With Spike, there wasn’t any of that. Well, very little of it at least. 

"Buffy..." 

"I'm sorry. Whatever this is, it can't-"

"Look. I want you. You want me. Fine. We can leave it at that. Doesn't have to mean anything.”

He made things sound so simple. But how was she supposed to just pretend that it wasn't different between them now? How was she supposed to go back to the way things were before? Did they just go back to verbal sparring matches and hating each other? Did he go back to trying to find a way to kill her? There was so much uncertainty now. She didn’t know where he stood on it, and she wasn’t ready to ask. He wasn’t ready to tell. If it didn’t have to mean anything, then…

Why did she get the feeling that it already did?

“We can make the best of a bad situation. Deal with the rest later, yeah?” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer to him, one hand coming to rest on her head. His fingers combed through her hair, soothing her nerves.

"How much longer are we gonna be stuck in here?" she asked absently.

"Hard to say. Why? Getting tired of me already, are you?

"No!” she answered, too quickly. “No… I'm just… I need to be out there."

He chuckled and pushed her into a sitting position. "Getting the itch? Could try to spar, if you're feeling up to it. Can't hit you back, of course, but I can be a good punching bag."

"Yeah?” That perked her up. The idea of hitting something, even if it was just a sparring match, was a welcome distraction. At least she’d be moving, instead of sitting and being doted on. Not that she was exactly complaining about that, but… She could only take so much of that before it started driving her crazy. “You want to be my dummy?"

"Watch it, missy. Don't make the headache worth it.” 

***

The Riley guy didn’t need much introduction for Xander to hate his guts. As soon as Giles got the words ‘responsible for her capture’ out of his mouth, Xander had landed an admittedly weak punch to the guy’s jaw. Not that he had to hit him hard to cause a lot of pain, since it looked like he’d gone a few rounds with a fire dancing bodybuilder. Bruises and burns and cuts and who knew what else that was hidden. It was the principle of it. Dick bag.

Apparently all the damage had been done by Giles, which was... scary. Just a librarian. Sure. Xander did his best to ignore the method, and focus on the results. Besides, he probably deserved whatever it was Giles had done to him. No, he definitely did. Buffy had been in there way too long, and it was all on Riley’s shoulders. 

But they were finally going to get her back. After weeks and weeks of her being in that place, there was a plan coming together. Not a great plan, exactly, but it was way better than sitting around twiddling their fingers and staring at books and trying to sneak into the military base a second time. They had an inside man, even! The cornerstone of any infiltration operation being a success. You always had to have an inside man. Maybe they’d even get to use the rocket launcher again. They still had it, after all.

Everybody was crowded around the kitchen table, which was covered in an array of maps and hand drawn schematics. Every eye was on Riley as he did the commando thing and laid their plan out. Ethan wasn’t restrained anymore, Xander couldn’t help but notice. But hey, if Giles could flip a military operative in an afternoon, maybe he’d brought Ethan around to the side of good, too. He did have one of those ‘pivotal’ roles, so Xander certainly hoped he was trustworthy enough to follow through.

“This is the entrance to tunnel seventy two. Just a tool shed out on a dirt road, but it’ll get you directly into the secured laboratories. Soldiers don’t have the credentials to get in there. As far as I know, only top clearance scientists have the code. That would be Walsh or Engleman.”

Riley slid a huge piece of paper to the center of the table, pointing to one section.

“These are the secured labs. I don’t know specifics, I haven’t been in there. The entrance is here.” He pointed at another section, just across from the secured labs. “This is the pit. Chances are, that’s where you’ll find Walsh and Engleman. You want them in custody as quickly as possible. You’ll need the leverage.”

“Even though you’re going to have...most of the soldiers out of there?” Xander asked dubiously. Double agent or not, he didn’t trust Riley. He was stupid enough to think Buffy of all people was a monster, just because she was super strong. 

“Yes. There are security agents that aren’t field ops. Here. This is the entrance to the containment area. That’s where you’re going to find Buffy and Spike. If they’re still in the same cell, it’s located here. If you don’t see Walsh or Engleman at the pit, they’re going to be in this section, with Buffy. It’s her… testing area.”

“Her torture chamber.” Giles corrected pointedly. 

“Yes.” He looked down, avoiding the stares of every person in the room, all of which would happily cause him pain. “Your escape route is going to bring you out on campus. It’s a low ceiling, so you’re going to need to crouch.” He laid out a campus map, one area circled. “This is where you’ll come out. Run, and I do mean run, to this parking lot. I’ll make sure there’s a military grade vehicle there. I’ll take the tracker off of it, put it on a civilian vehicle to confuse them. It’ll be stocked with medical supplies, weapons. Typical stuff you might need.”

“And we’re supposed to just… trust that you’re going to follow through with this? That we won’t be walking into a trap?” For once Xander was happy that his girlfriend said the thing that everybody else was thinking. 

“No.” Giles sat a small box on top of the pages. “We aren’t taking that chance.” He opened it, revealing a very wriggly, slimy, gross looking thing that looked almost like a tiny leech. Minus the freaky tendrils that it was whipping around angrily.

“Ew, what the hell is that?” Willow looked at it a little close, then backed away when those little tendrils stretched toward her.

“This is essentially… a kill switch. We’ve agreed to terms of his release. The spell binds us to that agreement. And if he breaks it… Well, this nasty little bugger is going to fry his brain.”

“Cool.” Anya looked at it like a kid in a candy store. “Those are probably pretty rare, huh? Dammit. Of course you have one just laying around.”

“I’m a librarian, Anya. I had an Orb of Thesulah as a paperweight.”

“Right. Of course you did.” She mumbled something under her breath, arms crossed as she shot a glare at Giles as she did so. Probably jealous of his collection of rare things that could net her lots of money.

“We’re getting off track.” 

Giles was way bad moody. Like, more than his usual bad mood self. Xander didn’t have time to think about why that might be, and what it meant though. He had to be paying attention to what the giant walking dick was saying.

“Willow, Tara. You two will be concentrating on the protection spell. I won’t have you two put in danger. I’ll escort you to a safehouse, and you’ll remain there until I contact you. The materials you will need are already there. Supplies as well. Pack a bag, but pack light. It may well be a few days or more before it’s safe to come get you.”

“O-of course.” Tara nodded enthusiastically, a little smile sneaking in.

“Won’t let you down.”

“Anya, you and Xander will be helping Ethan. You have the most knowledge of language. If something he’s casting seems wrong, Xander is to disable him.”

Anya did her happy dance, which meant to say… She bounced up and down and clapped. And bounced. And bounced. “Ooh, goody! This sounds fun!”

“Ethan, you know what your role is. Don’t squander this opportunity. This is the only time I’ll be approving such activities.”

“Are you sure about this, Giles?” Xander still didn’t like the idea of Giles going into a military base on his own, with no back up waiting in the wings, or anywhere nearby.

“One hundred percent. One person is much less noticeable than a small group. It will be easier. And if I am captured, I trust that the rest of you will figure out another plan.”

“I can buy you as much time as I can, but once that alarm goes off, they’re gonna recall the ops. Once somebody notices you, you have maybe a half hour, if that, before three teams of our most experienced are in there looking for you.”

“I trust that you will. Although, if for some reason you don’t, I’ll have three teams minus a man trying to figure out why you’re suddenly frothing at the mouth and there’s blood coming out of your eyes. Either way, there’ll be something to occupy their time and attention. This only dislodges itself once the terms are met.”

“Yes, you...explained that.”

“For the record, that means until she is out of there. Whether this mission is successful or not, you’ll still be bound by the spell to help her. Leverage, like you said. I believe I have a firm grasp of that concept.”

***


	16. Chapter 16

It was a stupid agreement. Now he had some magic prawn monster crawling around in his brain, waiting for the cue to kill or release, and the outcome was all on Riley’s shoulders. If Buffy died, he died. If she didn’t escape, he might still die. If he didn’t do everything he could to help her, he died. But at least he wasn’t being tortured by that absolute psycho anymore. Small luxuries.

He was nowhere near recovered from his injuries. The burns and the broken ribs and the bruises. Every step he took caused pain. Every breath. He’d be on the mend for weeks, if not longer. And now he had a mission to lead. One that could be his undoing, if anybody realized what was happening. He’d be labelled as a traitor, thrown in the stockade, and charged with treason. 

And his fellow operatives probably wouldn’t think twice about it. They were friends, sure, but… They believed in the work they were doing far more than he did. If they knew he’d been the one to compromise it… It wouldn’t matter if the thing in his head killed him or not. He wasn’t getting out of there.

Even without the little death creature, he still would have done whatever he could to get Buffy out alive. It was his fault she was in there to begin with, because he’d been so stupid. He could have just asked her what she was. To explain it. Instead, his loyalties had led him to telling Walsh. He could have listened to that little voice in the back of his head that said it was a bad idea. He could have listened to it right before he’d hit her with the second taser. She probably could have recovered, fought back, and got away if he hadn’t… 

And now she was all cozy with a vampire, for whatever reason. Maybe it was a side effect of the drugs they’d been giving her. He knew sedatives could do strange things to a person when used for an extended amount of time, but that had never been his concern. He’d walked blithely by while Walsh and her scientists had done their experiments. What was a little bit of drugging? Demons weren’t people, so who gave a damn about the side effects? 

But they could cause a euphoric like state. Hallucinations. Confusion. So it was entirely possible that had contributed to her attachment to the vampire. The way they’d been acting together, specifically the way Seventeen had been…

He wasn’t being sedated like she was, but he’d been treating her like she was something precious, something to be protected at all costs. When everything in the books said he should be trying to kill her, even with the chip in his head. Even before they’d been put into the cell together, he’d put himself in harm’s way to keep her safe. And then, he’d been… doing whatever it had been. Feeding on her, in that way. That was the only way Riley could describe it. He didn’t want to think about the other thing it could have been. Didn’t want to think about Buffy doing that with a monster.

Because what did that make her?

He shook the thought from his head. She wasn’t one of them. He knew that now, even if it was too late to change things. Ripper had made sure he knew exactly what she was. She was the Slayer. Destined to die at the hands of demons. To fight day in and day out, never any rest, to protect mankind and keep the demons from overrunning the earth. She saved the world. Multiple times already, in fact. And she had been trying desperately to have some kind of a normal life, a future, and Riley had…

He’d screwed up. 

But he could do this. He could help her escape, and hope that she might forgive him. Even if she didn’t, at least… At least she’d be alright, eventually. And the Initiative had to be stopped. He knew that now. And as much as it pained him to betray his unit, and Maggie, it had to be done for their own good. None of them were the same anymore. At some point, things had changed.

When he’d joined the Initiative, it had been a normal operation. Kill the demons, bring them back for an autopsy. Simple. Clean. Merciful, in a way. Then Engleman came on board, with all his fancy degrees in behavior modification and everything else, and… filled Maggie’s head with all these ideas and applications and started making prototypes. 

That’s when the experiments had started. Really started. 

The modification chips. Whatever went on in the secure labs. They started the live capture program, and he’d been okay with that, for a while. Even with using plastic wood grain stakes to go after the vampires. It was just training, right? Harmless. Then Walsh ramped up their operations. Instead of nuisance demons, the ones who were actively out causing trouble, it was any and every demon they could find. And that had been alright with him, too. Demons were inherently evil, after all. And most of them did die, eventually. 

But after a while, it had just grown… mundane. He missed the days when they just hunted them. Everything was so much easier then.

And from what he’d experienced in the last few days, it wasn’t. Nothing was simple now. There were humans who were more evil than some of the demons he’d encountered. And he’d started to think, maybe he might be one of them. 

It’s no different from torturing a puppy, if you think about it. If a dog is rabid, you put it down, as a mercy. You don’t put a chip in its head that causes pain when it attacks, in the hopes it will eventually stop attacking. 

His thoughts drifted back to Ripper. To the things the man had done to him. Evil things….If a man was evil for trying to help somebody he loved, how evil was it to take pleasure in causing harm to demons?

He didn’t want to think too hard about that. 

He made his way through the tunnel entrance, making sure they’d see him on camera as he approached. No doubt there’d be a team on the way to meet him by now, check his status, make sure he wasn’t one of the undead now. It had been enough days. He was close now. He checked his watch, making sure there was still plenty of time before the plan was put in motion. They were tracking his movements anyway, right? They’d know when to get started on their end.

“Agent Finn!”

“Riley, stop where you are. Protocols, man. We gotta do a scan.”

Graham and Forrest stood in the way. Doing their jobs like good little soldiers. 

“Man, am I glad to see you guys,” he half lied, “You wouldn’t believe my weekend.” He held his arms up as they did their thermal scan, and sighed his relief that whatever was in his head seemed to pass. 

“Good to see you, commander. Come on, let’s get you to medical and we can debrief.”

***

She took in Riley’s condition. She’d been told it was bad, but she’d never expected this. Her poor boy. Stripped down to his boxers and on display on a hospital bed. His perfect physique would be forever scarred from the ordeal he’d been through. The burns would heal the worst. They’d begun to fester, and even with the proper mixture of medications, there was little that could be done for them. He deserved better. She’d make sure he received only the best medical care available. The wounds would eventually heal, for the most part.

What concerned her more was how long he’d been gone without his enhancement cocktail. He’d be having withdrawals by now, and that could cause far more damage than what had already been done to him. After the many months of supplements, stopping so suddenly, even if it were only a few days time, could prove catastrophic. His system would begin to break down without being tapered off slowly, and she had no intention of doing that. He’d come too far under her guidance to just end it without reason. She could see the signs already. The tremble in his muscles, the clammy look. Much longer, and he’d have been completely unable to move.

She had to get him a boosted dose as soon as she was able. He’d need pain medications. She’d never administered it intravenously, but… first time for everything. She wasn’t exactly thrilled about this being the time to test it.

“So. We have an active nest outside of town. Their numbers are unknown, but you said at least a dozen. Strong enough to subdue my best soldier. What would be the best course of action here? Is live capture an option for this?”

Riley nodded, sucking in sharply when balm was applied to the burn on his well-toned thigh. “We need to take care of them, before they get out of control. I don’t mean in a few days. We gotta do this tonight.”

“Riley… You need your rest,” Walsh laid a hand on his left pec, pushing him down to the bed so she could get better access to his torso. He groaned in pain, muscles rippling and tensing under her hand as he resisted her. “Let the others take care of this. You’ve been through enough. Please.”

The monsters who did this to her boy would pay, a hundred fold, for the pain they’d caused him. Riley was… special. Her pet project, in a way. His potential far exceeded that of his peers, and she’d known it from the moment she’d laid eyes on him. And now he was scarred. Damaged. By the world she’d brought him into. A perfect Adonis marred, his purity of form damaged on Hephestus’s forge, though at least he hadn’t become twisted and deformed like the mythical blacksmith of the gods.

She couldn’t help but feel partially responsible for what had happened. She’d always saw it as her job to keep him safe, without coddling him. Though admittedly, she’d failed in both aspects. She’d rendered him too soft and too brittle to endure the forging he’d be put through. But she’d fix it. Give him an extra dose of the enhancement cocktail and try again..

“I don’t need rest, Walsh. I need to do my job. I need to lead my team. If anything happens to them… That’s on me. Please.”

She applied a numbing cream to his bruised ribs. They were most likely cracked, if not broken. She’d order an x-ray in the morning so they could be certain. “Riley. You’ve sustained significant injuries. I can’t clear you for duty, you know that.”

“Maggie,” his hand grasped hers, and he looked up at her with those big blue eyes. “I need to do this. Please.”

She felt her resolve wavering. She hated the idea of letting him out of her sight again so soon, to go right back to the place that caused him so much pain in the first place. But, he was an adult, and as level headed as they came. He wouldn’t jeopardize the safety of his men by being a hindrance. If he thought he could handle it, then he probably could. 

“I’m going to give you some medication for the pain,” which included his enhancers, and would help with the withdrawal symptoms, “and you’re not to take the front, do you understand? Technically, I should have you in a secure room, making sure you don’t go running off on a suicide mission. But, I trust your judgement, Riley.” She’d taught him that, too.

He sighed with relief. “Thank you. I won’t let you down.”

She helped him sit up, almost second guessing herself when the simple act made him emit a guttural groan. “I know you won’t. Pain meds, now. Hold still.”

The last thing she needed was for her best operative to be off his game and unable to perform. Once they got back, she would place him on medical leave. He’d need at least a week, likely more, but she hoped that by the time he was cleared for active duty, the situation with Forty-Nine and Seventeen would be resolved. 

“We need to get the men mobilized, ma’am. The longer we wait, the less chance we’ve got of catching the demons unaware.” 

“Right you are. Alright. I’ll make the call. You get dressed and ready for mission briefing.”

***

As the teams departed, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d made the correct choices. Allowing Riley to go on a mission with injuries was… ill advised, at best. But he’d been insistent, and she knew how stubborn he was. He’d have found a way to go, whether she approved it or not. She knew there was no better man to lead the teams, injured or not. And he’d managed to come back to her in one piece, all on his own. He had twenty men at his disposal this time. Riley would be just fine, she reassured herself once again.

She had other matters to deal with before he returned. Despite her efforts to emotionally disconnect him from Forty-Nine, he still had an obvious soft spot. He’d broken protocols, and brought her food. Unapproved supplies. Even after seeing her giving blood willingly to the vampire, he hadn’t managed to accept that she was a monster. No better than the rest of them. It was Riley’s single downfall; his heart was just too big for his own good. She’d decided it was in his best interest… if the Slayer had an unfortunate accident during a routine test.

Although, how unfortunate would it really be if Project Adam could be revived as… Project Eve? She was already a nearly perfect soldier. The preliminary testing showed that she even exceeded Riley’s impressive capabilities, by a large margin. All that needed to be done was to enhance, and to control. The first step would be eliminating Seventeen. For somebody claiming to be human, Buffy had proven herself to have a fixation on the vampire. And he, with her. They’d been nigh inseparable, and Walsh blamed herself for that. 

When she’d put them in the cell together, she was expecting them to fight, to argue, to test the limits of the behavioral control chip. She never expected that they would form some kind of codependent bond. Vampires had no souls. They weren’t supposed to show human emotion. Seventeen was unique in that way. He appeared to genuinely care about Buffy, which had come as quite a surprise. The way he doted on her constantly, caring for her, going out of his way to provide her some sense of comfort and security. Walsh had never seen anything like it. Even if he weren’t genuine, his ability to mimic emotions…

It was a pity she had no further use for him.

Walsh sighed heavily as she made her way to the testing chambers to prepare. It was a shame Seventeen had such a strong spirit. Strength and abilities such as his were a rare find in his species. Rarely did they live long enough to develop them. Still, she knew when to quit while she was ahead. The behavior modification chip functioned as intended, and that was all they’d needed to know. 

She could give Engleman the go ahead to produce a more perfect version, and it would be used on Forty-Nine. Whether it modified the behavior itself was yet to be seen. Results for that had so many variables, many dependent on the individual. She doubted that Seventeen would ever really stop killing, simply because he was so old. Like a dog trying to learn new tricks.

“Have a contingency of men collect my favorite subjects. Today will be their final test.”

Engleman looked up as she approached him, surprise on his face. “At this hour, ma’am?”

“I don’t believe I stuttered, and your hearing is in perfect condition. It’s time.”

“Of course,” he nodded, remembering his place. “Sedated?”

“No. I want them both as close to full strength as possible.”

Adam might be gone, but the knowledge they’d acquired wasn’t. And Buffy could be controlled, Walsh was sure of it. It was just a matter of figuring out what made her tick. Perhaps… If both refused, they could be used as leverage in that way. Do as I say, lest your lover face the consequences. She doubted it would come to that. What would the most likely outcomes be..? 

Seventeen attacking in a blood rage, and killing Forty-Nine. He’d then need to be sedated and his chip turned back on. Then he could go to long term holding. Forty-Nine would kill Seventeen and have a mental break, causing her to be far more docile. A chip would be installed, and she could be trained to obey. They’d kill each other, and Forty-Nine would be like Adam had been, part human and part machine.

The least likely… Both would go against their natures, and refuse to cause harm to the other. In that case, there were some different options. First, she wanted to talk to Buffy. Maybe if she offered an out, a simple choice, Buffy would make the right choice. 

The phone on the desk rang sharply, jolting her from her thoughts. The only person who knew the extension was Engleman, which meant… something had gone wrong. Somehow. In the matter of just a few minutes. Leave it to less than experienced troops to screw something so simple up. She snatched it off the hook, already frustrated.

“What is it?”

“Seventeen. Ma’am- he’s- you need to deactivate the chip. Now.”


	17. Chapter 17

Knew it had to be a dream, but everything felt so real. Smelt real. Even tasted real, so I didn't give a bloody damn if I was dreaming.

My Slayer. Laid out beneath me like a gourmet buffet. 

And God, was she delicious. Bitter and sweet and warm. Tasted like heaven. And I was gonna eat her up until she couldn't take any more of it. Could never get enough of her.

Gluttony's a sin, I hear. Not that I give a damn about that either.

Just her. She's all that matters. She's consumed me more than I could ever dream of consuming her. Fella has to try though.

I know the taste of her skin. Know her scent. But it doesn’t stop me from kissing every bit of her I can, drinking her in. I want more. I want all of her.

Spike… I want you.

You've got me, baby. All yours. For bloody ever if you want it.

Poised above her. I can feel how hot she is. How wet. Want her to tell me though. Tell me she needs me. I've waited this long. I can wait a little more.

Say it for me?

Please, Spike.

Love hearing her moan my name. Gonna love hearing her scream it, too.

Take it slow. Savor it. 

She's like fire. Powerful and raw and destructive. Bloody force of nature. Untameable. Unstoppable. Gonna burn me up til there's nothing left, and I'd crawl through miles of broken glass just to beg her to do it again.

Say you're mine, Slayer. Tell me.

More, please. I need you-

Need to hear it.

Yes, yours. Your Slayer. Please.

That's my girl.

I know she's close. Can feel her squeezing me. I'm closer. Got to bring her over the edge. Nice guys finish last, you know.

She’s on my lap, and every inch of her skin that touches mine burns, but I still want more. Her breathy moans are getting louder, muscles tensing around me, and I can’t help myself. I want her closer. 

Buffy… God, pet…

Fangs are in her neck before I even know what I'm doing, but it doesn't matter. She's clenched around me, trembling, screaming for more. Nails bite back, and the pain is exquisite. She's exquisite. Swear I can see stars exploding.

Between that and the glorious blood in my mouth, I come undone. A moment of perfect bliss, while I'm buried in her. Like being reborn. Like coming home.

And then I feel it in me, swelling and boiling over. I know what it is now, and I know how completely buggered I am.

Buffy, I love you. God, I love you so much.

Fuck.


	18. Chapter 18

He woke with a strangled gasp, and would have sat bolt upright if he could have. But there she was, nestled against his chest like she always was, fast asleep. The Slayer. His mortal enemy. The bane of his existence. Killer of things that went bump in the night. Thorn in his side. The one girl in all the world that he shouldn’t want. The only one it was taboo to have. Buffy. God must have hated him.

Oh, god, no. No, no, no. 

He couldn't breathe. He needed to get away from her. As far away as he could. All several feet of it. He wanted to run. He wanted to scream. Wanted to fly into a rage. But at the same time… That undeniable urge was there. To hold her closer, to kiss her, to shower her in words and phrases and poetry. And she was so hot against him that she’d warmed him through, and it almost made him feel alive. He loved that feeling.

He'd thought... He didn't know what he'd thought. He'd just assumed that this thing with the Slayer was like with Harmony. Lonely and latching onto her just so he'd have someone to take care of. Someone to hold and cuddle. But he'd known damn well he hadn't been in love with Harmony. But with Buffy… 

God, Drusilla had known. She’d seen it. The words she spoke in Brazil came rushing back. It finally made sense. He’d tasted like ashes. The Slayer was surrounding him, floating all around his head. And he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, push her away. He’d thought she was nutty at the time. Hell, he always thought she was nutty, but… That’s why she’d left him. And then he’d come back to the Hellmouth, to kill Buffy for her, to win her heart back. And ended up with a bloody chip in his head, locked in a cell with…

It had to be some huge cosmic joke. Done by somebody with a shit sense of humor.

Buffy took in a deep breath and muttered, rolling slightly and cuddling closer to him. She wrapped her arms around his stomach and squeezed, nuzzling the bare skin of his chest in her sleepy state. He’d found it… cute, before. Now it just hurt. She couldn’t do casual, and she’d never want a relationship with him. She’d never be committed to him, the way he knew he already was to her. He was just an undead soulless creature of the night with a bit of plastic lodged in his gray matter. Hardly a replacement for a soul. Hardly enough to make her see him as something more. To give him a chance to prove…What, exactly? That he could be good? Good for her?

He wasn’t stupid. He knew what it meant, for him to be in love. He’d spent a century with Dru, completely dedicated to her, catering to her whims, taking care of her. There was no question of ‘how high’ when she told him to jump. He just did it until it made her happy. Before that, he'd been devoted wholly to his mother. It would be the same with the Slayer. With Buffy. Except she wouldn’t let him anywhere near her once they were free. He was just a convenient, comforting presence. 

And that stung.

He needed booze, and blood that wasn't hers, and a bloody cigarette would be real nice. Something to do with his hands, to have in his mouth. Distractions. He kicked himself the moment he thought it, when images of how she could fulfill those needs pretty easily came to mind.

Buffy stirred in his lap, waking up more fully, and he couldn't help but look down at her just as she opened her eyes. And she smiled at him, so softly, and the tenderness was more than he could take.

He let his fangs descend with a growl, and he did exactly as Dru had wanted him to. He pushed Buffy away. Not hard enough to hurt her, physically, but the pain and confusion was clear as day on her face. He could not be in love with her. He couldn’t let himself be her lap dog. Not hers. God, not hers. There had to be some reason for it. Had to be. That stupid spell of Willow’s, or the chip modifying his behavior. 

He scrambled away, to the furthest corner from her, where he could crouch and freak out and hopefully she’d just be smart enough to stay away from him. He clung to himself, nails digging into his shoulders, desperate for a distraction. Anything to focus on other than the way his world was crashing down at that moment.

“Please, no,” he muttered, rocking back and forth as an ache grew in his chest. “No, no, no…”

Maybe if he begged, pleaded enough, it would go away.

He knew already. He knew exactly what it meant, that he felt this way about her. Years of devotion, never to be reciprocated. Not by her. Not ever. But he’d still try. He’d try so hard. He’d try until it killed him, or until she did. And how the bloody hell… He couldn’t tell her. God, he couldn’t even face her. But there he was, stuck a few feet from her when he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Spike..?” she asked, her voice concerned. “Are you alright?” 

“God, what’ve they done to me? This… No, no…”

Her hand touched his shoulder lightly, and any other time it might have been comforting. At that moment, not so much. He jerked away from her, recoiling from the contact. He didn’t want her kindness, or her concern, or whatever mixed signals she wanted to send. Even if she had no idea what she was doing, it would all be different now. To him.

“Hey, I’m right here,” she crouched down next to him, draped her arm around him, and forced him to look up at her. “Not like I can go anywhere, right?”

She wouldn't let him look away, so he closed his eyes instead. So he didn't have to see her. Her concern. Her pity. Whatever it was he'd find lurking in her eyes. If he looked at her too long, he’d-

Her lips pressed against his very softly. Feather light, lingering, managing to be equal parts yielding and commanding. He stiffened, torn between wanting to get away and wanting to give in. His natural instinct was to give himself, completely and utterly, to Buffy. To be whatever it was she needed him to be. He wanted to resist it. He didn’t want to change. But maybe… maybe he didn’t have to. 

Don’t kill people. Be a good little white hat. Be on the side of good. Be on her side. He could do those things, and still be himself. No matter how many small changes he made, he’d still be true to the bigger part of him. The core of himself that demanded he surrender himself to her. Even knowing she didn’t love him, and probably never would, it didn’t matter. He could still commit to her. Commit to changing, and being better. He was adaptable. And maybe, someday, she’d see him for what he really was. Let herself love him. 

He had to try, right?

Calm washed over him, like an undertow pulling him down. But it didn’t scare him anymore. He’d gladly let himself drown in it. In her. As the panic receded, so did his fangs. He let out a shaky breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. She was kissing him. Because she wanted to. And she wanted him, and that was already a good start. Better than nothing. After he’d-

“Oh, god, pet. I didn’t mean - Did I hurt you?”

His hands flew to the hem of her shirt, pulling the material up to check if he’d reopened her wound. No fresh blood scent. She hadn’t cried out when he’d pushed her. The chip hadn’t fired. She was alright?

“Think you’d know if you hurt me, Spike. Are you okay? What happened?”

Her hand settled on his, warm and soft. It made his chest ache, that she would show him kindness after what he’d just done. After everything he’d done to her. God, he didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserve her.

“Just a dream. That’s all. Scared me.” He took in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Let it go. “But it’s okay now. I’m okay.”

He was still scared. He had no idea how to love her. How to show it. A hundred years with Dru hadn’t exactly prepared him to love a human, let alone this one. He couldn’t just bring her a puppy to eat whenever she got in a mood. No bloody hearts for special occasions. Torture victims probably weren’t real high on her list either. What the hell did one do to win a Slayer’s favor? Sharpen and polish all her weapons? Carve out stakes? That was a thought.

If they ever got out of her, that was the first thing he was doing. Knew she’d just had a birthday. He could say it was for that, right? Would she accept a gift from him?

“Hey, you with me?”

He blinked, realizing he hadn’t said anything for a few minutes. God, this was going to be impossible. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to get his head in the game. 

“Yeah,” Buffy. “Slayer. I’m here. Just…” dealing with the sudden realization that I’m in love with you, but it’s fine. “Bit shaken, is all. Could really use a smoke.”

She sat down next to him, with her back against the wall, and opened her arms. “Come here.” She wasn’t asking. 

So he listened. He gave into the need. He crawled to her, and laid his head on her lap… It hit him, then, like a punch to the gut. He was cuddled up to her the same way she’d been cuddled up to him. Give and take. Dru had tried her best, but she’d always been better at the taking than the giving. But there in the Slayer’s arms, with the gentle finger strokes through his hair bringing an overwhelming sense of belonging, he couldn’t help but think... With Buffy, maybe….

Maybe they’d be alright. Even if this was all they’d ever have, it was enough.

***

Everything happened so fast, he didn’t even have time to process it. One minute he was snuggled in his Slayer’s lap, purring happily while she stroked him, and the next thing he knew there were ten assholes in full riot gear standing outside their door. He said something sarcastic, the glass slid open, a taser was fired, and Buffy yelped and slumped over. He was so overcome with rage, he didn’t even feel the chip firing at first. He tasted blood, then lost consciousness.

“Buffy..?” 

He spoke her name before his eyes were even open. He knew she was there, somewhere close by. He could smell her. Fresh blood again, too, but not hers. Thank god. They were back in that damn training room again. Great. Time for another round of kill the thing. Just as well, he needed to release some pent up frustrations. Only one better way to do that than killing, and it wasn’t an option right at that moment, so dealing out some death would have to do.

His eyes found her, hunched down near one of the walls far away from him. But something wasn’t quite right. She was rocking a bit, arms clutched to her knees, and she was mumbling something he couldn't quite make out.

"Slayer..." He rolled over, managing to get his feet under him and take a few stumbling steps toward her. "Pet, you okay?"

"Stay away. Don't make me hurt you, Spike. We don't… we don't have to do this."

She didn't turn to face him, she didn't stop rocking. Something was really not right with her. And that terrified the hell out of him. He had no clue how long he'd been out, or what they could've done to her in that time. He wasn't about to let her deal with it on her own though, whatever it was. He's made his decision already, and he was devoted to it. To her.

"Do what?" He asked, still walking slowly toward her. "We're not doing anything. I'm coming to check on you, alright?" 

"They… you don't know what they did, do you?" Her voice trembled, and God he wanted to rush to her, to hold her. Cradle her in his arms like something precious.

But something inside told him not to. She'd take it the wrong way. She wouldn't understand that he just wanted to help her.

"Just woke up, so no. Tell me what happened. I can help, if you let me. I can try, at least."

"Your chip."

The chip? "What about it?"

He'd nearly reached her now, but he stopped. He wouldn't touch her, not until she said he could. Her trust in him was fragile at best, and it was going to take a long time proving himself before she really believed in him.

"They said…When you attacked that guy, after they knocked me out… you went down. And the chip kept firing. And you, you were convulsing. So they...they had to turn it off. And they took it out, cuz you broke it. And Walsh, she said…"

He was trying to process the part where he didn't have that bug zapper in his head anymore. The headache, he could deal with. The brain cells would probably be fine, at some point. He seemed just fine, even with the damage. A little wobbly and uncoordinated maybe, but overall just fine.

"What did she say, Buffy?"

"She's gonna make us fight. I don't want to fight you, Spike. I really don't. These last few weeks, you've… I owe you so much. Please…"

"Oh, she's gonna make us, is she? And how's she plan on doing that? She gonna point and yell 'get her'? I'm not fighting you, Slayer. Bloody hell, I owe you my life. Would've been starving by now if it weren't for you. That's not the kind of thing you repay by trying to kill somebody."

He knelt down next to her, and stretched out his hand, hoping she'd reach back with her own. And when she did, he damn near fainted with the relief.

"Not a person on this planet can make either of us do anything, save for maybe your mum." She cracked a smile at that, which was good. A good sign. "Look, Slayer. In case you haven't noticed, things have... changed between us. I'm not sorry they have. Alright? So if she wants us to fight, she's just gonna have to go kick rocks."

She threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into a nice, full strength slayer hug. And he relished in it.

"When they told me that thing had fried… I thought you were dead. I thought it had killed you. And then… you were alive, and I thought-"

"Thought I'd want anything to do with your death? Oh, my unbeating heart. You wound me."

She slapped his chest lightly. Playfully. He couldn't help the little smirk creeping onto his lips at that.

"I thought I'd lost… you. This. Whatever it is."

"You're not scared? I could kill you in your sleep, easy as anything. The way you always let your head fall to the side, you give me perfect access."

"Try it. I dare you."

Oh, there it was. That heady scent. No, she wasn't scared at all. She was excited.

"Well, it seems the two of you have bonded far more than I surmised. You're choosing the other option, I presume?"

Walsh. That absolute ghoul. She'd taken up a spot up on the balcony, looking down her nose at the two of them. Like she was any better, any more human than he was.

"Other option? Didn't tell me we had options, pet."

"One of you can die, and the other will be released. We thought that would be an easy decision for her, but she refused. So we left it up to you. You also refuse?"

"You daft cunt. You ever listen to yourself talk and realize how off your rocker you are? You realize the Slayer is human? You've kidnapped her. Tortured her. Pumped her full of all kinds of drugs. None of that seems wrong to you?"

"I'll take that as a yes then. The other option… Was that both of you can die here, together. As I understand it, every Slayer meets her end at the hands of a demon. So, I thought it best to give her that. A warrior’s death.”

So, they'd finally decided to off the two of them, then. Fine. Let them try. He had no chip, and Walsh didn't exactly look like she clocked field time. None of the white coats did. Between him and the Slayer, they didn't have a snowball's chance in hell. It was the big guys that posed a problem. One on one, not so bad. But there were so many of the wankers.

Still, he and Buffy had a chance. A real one, finally. Walsh had slipped up, just as he knew she eventually would. Got too confident and made a mistake. If they could play their cards right, he could have Buffy home in her bed, safe and sound, and he could be sipping hot cocoa in the kitchen with Joyce. Pretty damn good option, by his way of thinking.

“What the hell would you know about being a warrior? Bitch. Already died once. Didn’t exactly stick.”

“Same here. Bring it on. Slayer?”

She nodded, her eyes focused on Walsh. And the look she was giving her was enough to give him chills. She was out for blood, that much was certain. She probably had the same thought he did. Get the hell out of that place, and take down whoever got in their way in the process. Starting with Walsh.

“Hey, Spike.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I thought so.” She smiled wickedly, and god was it a good look for her. “Give it your best shot, Walsh. You remember when I said you were going to find out what a Slayer was? Get ready.”

God, he loved her. Loved that they’d had an entire conversation between them in only three words. Loved that he’d get to fight by her side. Her determination after everything she’d been through. That she wasn’t afraid of him. That she’d challenged him. She squeezed his hand, and he could almost convince himself that maybe she was thinking the same thing. Probably not, but he was going to make sure they both got out of there alive, so he had a chance to find out.

“Listen. We ain’t getting out of here without one of us killing at least a few people. You know it. I know it. No bloody way are we going back to that cell though. Don’t want that on your conscience. You just… Let me handle it, look the other way this once.”

“Without your chip…”

“I can kill again. I know. But, seems to me… I do that, and you’ll have to stake me good and proper, won’t you? So, guess I’m staying on donations.” She looked stunned at that. “What? You thought I was… You think I have no self control? Think again. A man can change.”

“You’re a vampire.”

“Yeah, and? That means I just mindlessly go about killing people whenever I want to?”

“Yes?”

“Well, I don’t want to. Happy now? I get an itch for a spot of violence, I’ll go on patrol and fight some other demon. I get a craving for some fresh blood, I’ll-”

“Don’t! Don’t lie to me. Not after all this. We get out of here, you need to leave town, or I’m going to have to kill you, and-”

Spike grabbed her by the arms and pulled her to him, his lips crashing into hers. One way to shut her up and let her know he was serious about changing. Her mouth opened, a moan escaping as his tongue darted out to taste her.

“Buffy. I am telling you, right now, I’m not going anywhere. And I’m not going to be hunting. You got it? I don’t want you having to kill me. See, I’ve grown… kind of fond of what we’ve got going here. And I’d rather not muck it up because I want a nummy snack.” She was crying. Quiet little tears slipping down her face, and it broke his heart. He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “Don’t cry, pet. Have you ever known me to lie to you?” She shook her head. “Right. Now, we got a fight to win. Need you focused on that. Worry about other things later.”

He pulled her in for a hug, holding her tight against him. “Listen,” he whispered in her ear, “Soon as you can manage, you get up on the balcony. I’ll throw you if I have to. Alright?” 

Metal scraped against metal as a huge bay door slid open. Their heads turned to look, and Spike’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. Walsh wasn’t joking about it being a fight. She looked like she’d decided to clean house of every useless, weak demon she had at her disposal, and it was… not a small number. Dozens of them, and a few had weapons. Wasn’t a fair fight, not at all. Didn’t matter. Buffy was going home to her mum today if it killed him to make sure of it.

“Spike-”

“Plan stays the same, Slayer.”

They stood shoulder to shoulder as the demons realized what was in front of them. An enemy and her ally, the traitor. They started moving, running, into the room, roaring and snarling and generally making more noise than necessary. But Spike could relate. The anticipation, the excitement. He let out a roar of his own as the first demon with a weapon came within striking distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark and light, night and day   
> Which is which? Who can say?  
> Monster? Man? Some of both.   
> Neither lesser nor greater than.


	19. Chapter 19

So, this was it. They either got Buffy back tonight, or… Maybe not at all.  _ No, Willow. Bad thoughts. The spells will work. Giles will slip in and out and tomorrow everything will be back to normal. Easy peasy, Gary Sinese-y. Right?  _

Well, maybe not. But hopefully they’d be as close to normal as they could get for a while.

She was kind of half hoping that Buffy would get her hands on another grenade launcher and just kind of… Cause so much damage that the place cleared out and the military guys never came back. Not that she was exactly complaining about being holed up with Tara in a safehouse for who knew how long. Tara was good company to be stuck with. Kind and gentle and soft spoken, but steadfast in her convictions. 

College courses would have to be made up, and Willow would have to work extra hard, and everything was very daunting and uncertain and really, really scary. But with Tara there, she kind of felt… Very much at ease. She and magic didn't exactly have the best track record, and she knew that. She was still baking cookies every weekend to make up for the whole Will of Willow spell. Everybody was probably sick of white chocolate and macadamia nuts and dark chocolate and just … Chocolate in general, by this point. And while the guilt was still very much there, reminding her of exactly why she needed to be careful with magic, Tara had helped the pain of Oz's departure fade significantly.

She couldn't quite explain it, but… She was starting to think that maybe she might possibly be… kinda gay. Like that vampire version of her that had come from some other timeline, which still weirded her out because their lives were strange enough without throwing Star Trek Mirror Universe stuff in there, slutty clothes and all….

But there had been something kind of skanky and gross about that version of herself. With Tara….

When she looked at Tara, and when they spent time together, the world just melted away. Everything was magical, and not in the ‘things going kablooey’ way. All the stress and worries and fears were just gone. She felt pure. And she remembered feeling that way, with Oz, back when things had been nice and new and not with all the crushing heart pain. She liked Tara. A lot. But working through those kinds of feelings, and expressing them, and hoping that Tara might feel the same way? She could do that after Buffy was safe. There was no rush, right?

Romance wasn't a rushy thing. She'd just have to wait, and hope.

And in the meantime, get some quality  _ hiding from the crazy demon torturing military _ time together. Who knew, maybe Giles would come to get them and they'd be a couple. A girl could dream, right?

But for now, the most important thing was getting the spells done, and doing them right, and helping make this plan a success. Until that was done, all the romancing and fluttery eyelashes and blushing would just have to wait. Magic required focus and intent to work right. And if there was never a spell she did completely right again, she absolutely  _ had _ to do it with this one. This wasn’t something to… make the hurt go away, or to make lusty things happen. This was life or death. Buffy’s life. Buffy’s...

Willow would never forgive herself if she messed it up.

She sat across from Tara, supplies between them in the circle, excitement building within. She loved working the magic, using the energy to accomplish something. She loved the feel of it coursing through her veins. The power. But with Tara, it was like nothing she’d ever felt before. It was almost addicting. The things they did together…

_ Okay, more action and less feels. You’re thinking too much about Tara when we should already be working these spells. _

“Are you ready?” she asked Tara, who gave her a shy smile in return and nodded. “I think we should focus on Giles first, since he has to be all hidden-y? And then the protection? I mean, they’re bound to be noticed at some point, but-”

Tara’s brow furrowed a bit. “What about S-Spike? Sh-shouldn’t we protect him, too?”

“Spike?” Willow hadn’t even thought about him. And why should she? He’d tried to kill her more than once, and Buffy way more than that. Nearly killed Cordy and Xander. And who knew how many people in his unlife he’d brutally killed just for kicks. Why should she help him?

“It’s just- Riley said that Spike had been h-helping Buffy, right? So sh-shouldn’t we try to keep him safe?”

While Willow wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea, she had to admit that Tara had a point. If Spike really was keeping Buffy safe in that place, he’d need to be able to help her get out. And if that meant…  _ Yeah, fine. But as soon as she’s safe, I’m figuring out a way to melt his brain or something. _

“You’re right. We’ll do it for him, too.”

They joined hands, and Willow settled her mind. Everything was going to be just  _ fine. _ She took a deep breath and gave a nod for Tara to start, then alternated the lines.

  
“Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt, hear our plea.”

“Hide the hunter, cause not his prey to flee.”

“Cloak from sight, lend your might.”

“Arrows of light to blind and confuse our enemy.”

Warm fuzzies spread through Willow as they finished the first part of the spell. She could feel the magic working her will, energy pulsing out into the world. She lit the incense, smoke rising and curling and filling the room with the scents of sage and frankincense. Tara rejoined their hands, and spoke the first line of the second spell.

“Apollo, God of Light, twin of the Huntress’s might.”

“Keep our friends safe from harm.”

“Guide and protect, a blinding light so none may detect.”

Willow’s heart leapt in her chest as the spell was finished, the energy from the earth flowing through her and bending to her will. To Tara’s will. It felt… amazing. 

  
  


***

  
  


Entrance Tunnel Seventy-Two. Or as Giles had started to refer to it, the Air Vent of Lower Back Destruction. Just over a meter tall and equally as wide, he’d been crouch-walking for far too long. He refused to outright crawl on hands and knees, though at the rate he was going it might have been faster. 

_ How the bloody hell is a team of operatives supposed to use this god forsaken tunnel? Oh, right. They’re all young and in shape and used to this. I, on the other hand, am none of those things. I do have the moral high ground, but that’s not much use here. _

He knew the risks, of course. He was breaking into a top-secret military operation to free one of their prisoners. He had the feeling that they were the shoot first, don’t bother asking questions type of people. There was a very real chance that he’d never see the light of day again. That he’d either be killed or imprisoned. And he was surprisingly okay with that.

He’d never be able to forgive himself if he didn’t at least try. Anything less wasn’t an option.

He’d already sacrificed so much to get this far. He’d allowed Ethan back in. He’d made a deal with a god. Sealed it. He’d tortured Riley with no regard for whether he lived or died, as long as he revealed what he knew. It should have bothered him more than it did, but… He’d already reconciled with himself over it.

It was worth it. Buffy was worth it. Her life, her freedom. There was nothing in the world he would not give for that girl, including his own life. Or those of others, if it came down to it. 

His thoughts traveled down dark roads then, imagining what his girl was going through. What he’d like to do to those who had been hurting her. Were still hurting her. What he’d done to Riley Finn was nothing compared to what he was capable of if he fully let himself off the leash….

Giles took a deep breath and forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

The tunnel broadened, and he was finally able to stand up fully. As much as he wanted to take a moment to stretch, he forced himself to push further in. He knew he had to be getting close. He had to be in position before Ethan would begin his part, and the longer it took to get there… The longer Buffy was in immediate danger. 

He quickened his pace, following the only path he could. 

As Riley had promised, the tunnel led to a hidden door, which opened into a small electrical room. The Initiative. Giles had officially made it inside. And with perfect timing, he could feel a veil of magical energy settle over him. Willow and Tara had finished the protection spell. Which meant that Riley had just left, and there was about a half hour window of time for Giles and Ethan to do their part.

_ The entrance to the secured labs. Get there, so Ethan can begin. Then you can find Buffy, escape, and get to the armored vehicle. The faster it's done, the better. _

He cracked the door open and peered into the hall. Not a soul to be seen, for now. Of course, the only way to test how effective the spell really was would be to get into somebody's line of sight, and see what their reaction was. Or rather, if they'd look at him at all. Slipping out of the room, he stuck as close to the wall as he could, moving quickly and quietly as he could, following the signs.

He passed room three fourteen. A huge lightning scar was seared into the door, and the floor in front of it was blackened.  _ Loki _ . If he'd given Ethan access to even a little bit of that destructive power, this entire plan would be a cinch, as long as Ethan stuck to it. As long as that locket really held the power of a god.

Giles continued on, searching for the door that led to the pit. He encountered nobody, though it wasn't all that surprising. Riley had said that only Walsh and Engleman had access to that area, as far as he knew. And they were likely to be occupied…

With Buffy.

He walked faster, nearly jogging down the hallway. Until finally, he found it. 

Exit. 

He looked through the small window on the door, taking in the scene on the other side. A massive room, with scientists milling about here and there, looking at charts. Security guards, armed of course, but few in numbers. The Pit. He could see why they called it that, for there weren't many other ways to describe it. 

That was his goal. Make it there without being noticed, see if Walsh or Engleman were there, and if not… continue to the testing rooms. 

He just had to wait for Ethan.

***

Oh, how fun this would be. Sticking it to the proverbial man, as it were. Releasing chaos and destruction on a government operation. With Ripper's approval, and Loki's eyes on him to boot. It was like all the holidays wrapped into one with a great big bow on top, pretty as could be. He had free reign, as long as he wasn’t  _ directly _ causing the deaths of innocents. But who in that place really was? They were all complicit, if only by their inaction and silence. They all deserved whatever happened to them once he got started. And how he could not  _ wait _ to do just that.

Ethan stepped into his casting circle and donned Loki’s locket. The power of a god of chaos, at his fingertips, waiting to be unleashed upon the unsuspecting world. It was intoxicating, really. Such a shame it was limited to  _ just this once _ . Then he’d have to return it. He supposed the only plus side to that would be interacting with Loki one last time before having to go back to doing things the boring way. With real spellwork and ingredients and all the chanting and whatnot. 

The boy wonder and his centuries old ex-demon lover’s eyes watched him carefully as he sat down, and he couldn’t help but give the woman a mischievous smile. She of all people understood. Chaos wasn’t inherently evil, just as vengeance wasn’t. What was put out into the world would always come back three fold, as a rule. He simply helped that along, as she once had. As he could tell she still longed to do.

“Slipp låsen, som jeg er nøkkelen. Som en innsjø renner den gjennom meg.”

Xander stood, ready for a pointless fight. “What’s he saying? Is he…”

“Oh, he’s just activating the locket thingy that Loki gave him. Don’t worry, honey. If he says stuff he shouldn’t, I’ll tell you.”

Ethan couldn’t help but chuckle. The boy thought he wore the pants, and wanted to so badly. But it was very plain from an outside view who was really in control of that relationship.

“Tell me, Anya. What is it that you find most terrifying?”

“Me? Oh, bunnies. They’re grotesque.”

Bunnies, eh? Well, he could certainly work with that. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, the world was tinted green. 

“Slipp løs det som slår frykt inn i monstre. Fjern sikkerhet. Ødelegg våpnene. Rot ut det onde, og la det dø.”

The locket glowed white hot around his neck, but it didn’t burn. Instead, he felt the power of Loki coursing through him, bending the world to his will. Their security systems would fail catastrophically. Their weapons would be useless. And they’d be too distracted by the white fluffy rabbits (which were particularly vicious and bore a grudge against soldiers since the Holy Hand Grenade incident) to even notice what was happening until it was far too late.

  
  


***

  
  


It was exciting, working for the Initiative. Paul got to test the creatures they brought in to his heart’s content. No ethics this, or ethics that, blah, blah, blah. None of the bullshit red tape you usually had to put up with. Just pure science and experimentation, as it was supposed to be.

Humming a tune to himself, he looked through the day’s samples and picked one out. Deep tissue from a live specimen without any drugs or anesthesia to mess up the chemical composition. All you had to do was drug a subject up enough to strap them to a table, then wait for it to wear off. Boom, nice, clean samples. 

Some of his colleagues also cut the vocal cords of their subjects so they wouldn’t have to hear the screaming. Walsh and Engleman didn’t bother, and neither did Paul. He liked the sounds. Liked knowing he was causing the subhuman freaks pain. He had a feeling Engleman was the same. Walsh, though? Nah, not her. She was just that much of a stone cold bitch. 

He carefully carried the sample back towards his workstation, idly imagining what it would take to heat her up. Make that bitch all hot and bothered while she screamed his name….

Huh, speaking of screaming, there was a lot of that going on at the moment. Had the soldiers already come back with the demons that had completely trashed Agent Finn? He would have thought they’d have killed most of them, not brought them in for study. 

_Guess even the soldier boys can do things right sometimes,_ he thought contemptuously. _Good for th--_ He froze as he heard a familiar scream. That was Donna from Genetics. He hadn’t managed to worm his way into her pants yet, but he’d heard that particular scream after dropping a sample down her shirt the other day. What the hell was going on?

He put his sample down at his workstation before turning to find out. Then he froze again. There was a… rabbit. A little white mini-lop. Just sitting there, staring at him, nose twitching and...covered in something red.

And before Paul could do more blink at it, the rabbit leaped at him, showing enormous fangs as it went for his crotch. 

Then his screams joined those of his colleagues. 

  
  


***

Leave it to Ethan to summon Monty Python’s murderous rabbits. No doubt Anya had something to do with that idea as well. She was a nice enough girl, but her centuries as a vengeance demon… Well, he wouldn’t put it past her to tell Ethan to summon the most terrifying creature on the planet, according to her. And he had the power to do it, now. 

And when the security personnel had tried to shoot the fluffy little buggers… Their very useful weapons did nothing more than pop a flag out that said ‘bang!’, resulting in their faces going from confusion to utter horror in a matter of moments. Under different circumstances, in a different time, Giles might have paused to watch and enjoy the show. 

But he had a job to do, and Buffy needed him. Now more than ever. He had to find Walsh, and get her to release his Slayer, and then escape. Although, without weapons, and with many of their personnel lying on the ground bleeding out from rabbit fang wounds, he very much doubted they’d be able to launch much of a counter attack or search party.

The method may have been cruel, but it was most effective. And at that moment, he couldn’t make himself care about the casualties. Bloody Americans. They should have stuck with what they did best, and kept their noses out of places it didn’t belong.

He slipped into the area containing the Pit, and ran past the carnage toward where Riley had pointed on the map. The testing facility created just for Buffy. Where Walsh and Engleman would most likely be. The massive room fell into darkness as he reached the door, the security lock disengaging just as his hand touched the handle. 

_ Without the locks…  _ He had to hurry. Things would be far more dangerous now.


	20. Chapter 20

_ You are the Slayer. You killed Lothos when you were barely fifteen years old. You burned down your school gym. You killed the Master when you were sixteen. You stabbed your boyfriend with his own sword and sent him to hell when you were seventeen. You survived months on the streets of LA on your own. You blew up a giant snake and destroyed an entire highschool. You’ve stopped four apocalypses in your life. And now, happy birthday. You’re about to destroy a secret government operation that’s experimenting on anything that’s slightly not human. And you haven’t even hit the two decade mark. You can do this, Buffy.  _

_ And then you can go home. _

She kicked and punched. Dodged. Rolled. Countered. And the demons just kept on coming. But so did she. For every hit one of them landed, she got in at least three of her own. And damn, did it feel good to hit something. To have a target for her frustrations and anger. Even if they weren’t the ones she wanted to be hitting. They wanted her dead, and that was reason enough.

This was what she was born to do. It was her calling. Her art. It was what she did day in, day out, never any rest until something killed her. She was  _ the  _ Slayer. The last many weeks, cooped up in that tiny cell? She’d been missing something that was core to who she was. And this was it. The fight. The kill. The exhilaration and fear and excitement that came with it. The unknown. Was this the thing that finally did her in? Was this her last fight? Her last stand? 

The adrenaline coursed through her veins, lighting her senses on fire. The demon tinglies ran down her spine, over her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. And mingling in there amongst them, was Spike. Fighting right alongside her, instead of against her. She didn’t want to think about him though. Or what the future held for them. What it  _ didn’t _ hold. He was right. Focus on the fight, worry about other things later.

She didn’t have time to think about budding feelings, or what they meant. No considering what came after their escape. No thinking about why she’d been so afraid to lose him, or why she was as attached to him as she was. Or how it had come about. How she didn't want to kill him. How much she really wanted to be able to believe the things he'd said to her, about being able to change. She couldn't think about any of it.

Because at that moment, she was in a fight for her life, and for his. Their freedom. And even though they were holding their own, it only took one demon to change that. One demon to sneak under her defenses, get in one good hit. One blow to knock her off balance. In an instant, she could be vulnerable to a strike that would end her, and there wasn’t a damn thing anybody would be able to do to save her from that fate. She had to be on her game, and that meant pushing everything else aside and letting herself act on instinct.

So that was exactly what she did. But no matter how many she knocked down, or how many bones she'd broken, they just. Kept. Coming. And she was starting to get tired. She could feel her reflexes starting to slow by a fraction of a second. Her muscles ached, just a tiny bit. Just enough that she wasn't using her full force anymore.

Walsh was still watching from the balcony, stoic as ever. And Buffy knew that she needed to get up there to bring this fight to an end. 

But surrounded like she was, it wasn’t exactly an easy thing to do. Every time she thought she had an opening to make a running leap for it, another demon got in her way. A very annoying roadblock.  _ I'll throw you if I have to _ . Spike's words came back to her. He'd known it wasn't going to be an easy fight for them. But if Walsh had some way of controlling the demons, or stopping them in their tracks, it would be up there - well within her reach. 

“Spike!” 

She called to him as she threw a snap kick at another demon and sent it flying into two others, knocking them over like bowling pins. He was next to her in an instant, abandoning his own fights to help her. Again. He’d dragged another demon with him and threw it into the crowd in front of them, making a slightly bigger path.

“I’m here, Slayer.” She glanced up at Walsh, then back at the demons in front of her. And Spike needed no explanation. “Whenever you’re ready.”

They stood shoulder to shoulder, his right to her left.  _ That’s right, _ she remembered.  _ He’s left handed. _ He wouldn’t be getting in her way, and she wouldn’t be in his. A perfect fighting pair, really. And she couldn’t think of another person she’d rather have by her side at that moment. She gave him a subtle nod, and he sprang into action.

With a low snarl, Spike grabbed the nearest demon by the face, fingers digging through flesh to crunch into bone. He pulled it closer, then used his other hand to punch it to the ground. Buffy moved, positioning her back against his as she kicked into the mass of demons trying to get at her. 

She knocked two of them back before a pained groan came from behind her. Spike doubled over, and she dared a glance back. A massive demon with claws stood in front of him, arm raised to deliver a brutal blow. It was a split second decision. She rolled across Spike's back, landing in front of his opponent and snapping a savage kick into its chin. 

Spike recovered quickly, striking out with a mule kick right at the demon she’d been fighting. He turned, back to back with the Slayer once more, and punched into the crowd. She couldn’t see him directly, but quick flashes from the corners of her eyes and her situational awareness gave her a solid idea of what he was doing.

“Spinning!” she called out, her only warning before darting forward and breaking into a spin kick. 

Spike ducked, keeping out of her way and doing a leg sweep on the demons she hadn't knocked back. She realized… They were so good at fighting  _ together _ . Using the other's momentum to make moves of their own. She barely had to think about where he was, they were so in tune. And he must've noticed it, too. 

“Incoming!” he shouted, bounding forward and grabbing her hands. “Ice skater spin!”

He spun her, her legs lifting up off the ground to lash out at the horde, giving them a bit of breathing space. For a moment, she forgot about the desperate situation they were in, letting herself revel in the feel of it. It was like flying, sweeping through the air, free while her body sang in pleasure from the use of her full slayer abilities. 

They were making real progress now. 

Spike rolled ahead of her, one boot striking out and connecting with the knee of a demon. Even above all the snarls and carnage, she could hear the crunch of bone breaking. 

She kept close to him, throwing flurries of kicks and punches at the enemies he didn't take out. The demons had started backing away, finally giving them some berth. It made it far easier to go one on one, deal real damage, and move on to the next.

_ Left kick, right kick, parry, jab, jab, round house. _

She sent one flying just as Spike tapped her left shoulder. She turned in time to duck an incoming blow from a big ugly thing with way too many phallic horns.

She was side to side with Spike again, squaring up. The demon lunged for her, and she ducked again, getting behind it and kicking it in the lower back. It stumbled, just enough for Spike to get his hands on it and break its neck. 

Finally. They'd made their way to the wall. Spike positioned himself in the corner, hunched down with his fingers intertwined. A foot hold. She gave him a nod, got a running start, and landed perfectly on his hands. She surged upward an instant later, leaving the fight behind.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the balcony, and she held on desperately, forcing herself to get a better grip on it before swinging one leg up. She took a moment to glance down at Spike. He had his back in the corner, and he was holding his own.  _ For now. _ She had to move fast. She hauled herself up the rest of the way, sliding her body beneath the railing and pushing herself up onto her feet.

The unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked came from behind, and her blood ran cold. She turned to face Walsh, who held a gun at her hip. Buffy was determined that whatever happened next… She wasn’t going down without a fight. After everything she’d been through, so close to finally being free, and now the evil bitch wanted to end it with a bullet.

“Forty-Nine. I was so hoping it wouldn’t come to this. I’ve spent so much time trying to figure you out. How to get you to see the light, to come to our side.”

“Did you try not kidnapping me? Or maybe, I don’t know, not torturing me? Showing some kind of basic human kindness?”

“We acted on the information we had. You must understand that.” She took a step toward Buffy, the gun still raised at her side.

“No, I really don’t. You guys just- You think every single thing that isn’t human is evil. You don’t bother gathering any information on them. You just throw them in a cell, do experiments, and call it good.”

“We’re working to protect humans. Is that not right to you?”

Buffy gave her a confused look. Walsh couldn’t really believe the words she’d said, could she? “You think what you’re doing is  _ right _ ? No. It isn’t. You see a demon trying to eat somebody, you kill it. You see a vamp out on the prowl, you kill it. You don’t… bring it back to your bunker and cut it open and see what makes it tick. You just…”

“You don’t understand scientific progress. I wouldn’t expect you to. The work that we're doing here… It's vitally important. It saves lives.”

“This isn’t science. This is sadism. How many have you captured or killed since I've been in here? A dozen? I take out ten or more a night. Every night. Tell me about the lives you've saved.” 

Buffy took slow calculated steps, trying to work her way toward Walsh without her noticing. She’d managed to close just a few feet of distance. Not nearly enough

"You know, before you guys caught me? I was on patrol. Out doing my nightly sweep of the town. Did you guys… Finish it? Or did you just drag me down here and call it a night? Do you even bother to do patrols? Check the local papers every morning for vamp related deaths so you can sit on their graves until they rise?"

“Regardless… There’s really no choice left. I’d prefer you alive, of course, but… You would never agree to cooperate. With Adam gone…”

"I don't care about your science. I don't care about this bullshit operation you guys have going on here."  _ I don't care about that gun in your hand either, you hateful bitch.  _ "You're a monster, Walsh. And I'm a Slayer. And I'm gonna do what I was born to do."

Walsh raised the gun just a fraction, just as Buffy made a leaping roll toward her. Then the world dropped into darkness, before fire spread through her abdomen.

  
  


*******

He was on his own now. He could only hope the Slayer was able to do whatever it was she had planned up there with the evil bitch that had had them locked up together for so long. He didn’t have time to focus on how well she was doing. He was backed into the corner, with the entirety of what was left of the demons all coming for him. Little buggers didn’t know when to bow down to a master vampire and admit defeat. For that matter, they didn’t know when it was smarter to run from a slayer rather than try to fight one. 

He was holding his own just fine, for the most part. As long as he didn’t get overwhelmed by them, he’d be alright. Sure, they’d got a few good hits in here and there, but… He still had plenty of fight left in him. Really, what was a few hundred sodding demons? He could take them out in his… sleep. Sleep suddenly seemed fan-bloody-tastic, and he was more aware of the ache in his muscles. He could keep going. He  _ could, _ but…. 

_ Come on, Slayer. Haven’t got all bloody- _

His night vision kicked in the moment the lights went out, and the horde stopped for a moment in confusion. He thought he’d get a chance to take a breath, recoup maybe, then he heard it. That unmistakable sound. A gunshot. Just one. Then his nose was filled with the scent of Slayer blood. If his heart could have dropped, it would have fallen right out his arse. He had one thought then; he needed to get to her, no matter what it took.

Grabbing the demon closest to him by the horns, he whipped it around, slamming it into the confused masses. They grunted and growled in pain, some of them falling back. He rammed its head into the wall, effectively knocking it unconscious. He let it fall to the ground in the corner before turning back to the crowd. He picked off a few of the smaller ones easily, knocking heads together and snapping necks in a matter of moments. He tossed their bodies on top of the horned demon, making himself a nice little launching pad. He made a desperate running jump up the wall, his boots connecting with the concrete and gripping just enough for him to get his fingers onto the ledge. The scent of her blood was stronger up there, and his stomach flipped.

He pulled himself up, enough to see over.

_ Oh, God no…  _

Walsh stood over his slayer, gun still pointed in the darkness, though it was clear she couldn’t see a damn thing. His vision went red.

The next thing he knew, he was up on the balcony, with his teeth in Walsh’s throat. Hot blood, spiced with fear and resentment, poured down his chin. She choked and gurgled and struggled in vain in his arms. Three loud pops rang out in his head, and pain spread through his chest like wildfire, but he didn’t care. She was dying, now, for what she’d done to Buffy. He let her body fall from his arms, and it hit the floor with a very satisfying thump.

There was something very final about the sound.

His attention turned to Buffy. His Slayer. He knelt at her side and gathered her up against his chest, cradling her. As something precious. Something he was now losing. Something he'd probably never find again as long as he walked the earth.

He was losing a future. One that involved her, and everything that came with. He'd never get to agonize over gifts, or how to give them to her. The intricacy of wrapping them so they looked remotely presentable. He'd never get to sit up late at night with her and clean and sharpen weapons. Never get to take on a big bad at her side. There'd be no oddly shaped pancakes on Sunday mornings. This would be the last time he felt her warmth against him. 

And God, it broke his heart to even think about it.

The next time he had hot cocoa with Joyce… He'd be telling her about how he'd failed to save her daughter. How he wished it had been him. How the world was dimmer, without Buffy in it.

Tears poured from his eyes, and his body shook with the sobs. 

"I'm so sorry, pet..."

She turned her head, just enough that her lips could brush against his, and it was almost more than he could take. He felt like he'd fall apart, disintegrate into dust.

"I… I want to go… Home..." She whispered weakly, before letting out a shaky breath.

He could do that. Get her home to Joyce. Even if she didn't make it all the way there, Joyce deserved to be able to bury her baby girl. She deserved a funeral.

"Sure thing, sweetheart. Get you home to your mum," he sniffled, trying to hold back more tears. "Get you patched up."

There was a sudden sound, and a familiar voice growling at him to get away from her. 

Spike looked up, his eyes meeting the watcher's accusatory look. Something… off with the man. A wildness he’d never seen there before, not even when Angel had held him captive. 

"Please, help her," he said simply, hoping that would be enough for suspicions to be set aside for the time being. "She's… She's been shot, watcher. We need to get her-"

Giles dropped to his knees in front of Spike and pulled a cloth from his pocket. "I'm here, Buffy. Here, let's- we need to get pressure on it." He pushed on her abdomen, and she cried out in pain. "Spike, can you carry her out of here?"

Spike gave a nod. He'd carry her through the fires of hell if it meant she'd make it. The pain from his own injuries was shoved to the back of his mind as he adjusted his hold on her and rose to his feet.

"Good. We need to move quickly. There's not much time."


	21. Chapter 21

She found herself standing in a field full of flowers. Pretty white things with yellow centers, as far as she could see. They bobbed in the wind, the motion almost hypnotic. Clouds rolled overhead, moving with the currents and obscuring any real light that tried to filter through. It was peaceful. Quiet. Oddly familiar, somehow.

A sense of calm fell over her, and she let herself sink down into the flowers. Their scent surrounded her, permeable in the air.

She let her fingers play over the delicate petals, feeling their velvety smoothness.  _ So soft.  _ So unlike her. Everything in her life was… Hard. Harsh. Painful.

But here, she could just exist. She could be just a girl, in a field. Taking her time to enjoy the little things. To really live in the moment.

"Daisies, you know. There's a legend about these. When a child dies, God puts daisies down to cheer up the parents."

Spike had come to stand next to her, a stark contrast to the dreamy landscape around them. His duster was missing, as was his shirt. She tilted her head, taking in his form. Beautiful, in a way, though he'd probably balk at the word.

"Why are you here?"

Spike picked one of the flowers and began plucking the petals from it, one by one, letting them go. She watched them float to the ground, dancing on the air as they went. He gave her a strange look when he came to the final one. Something between a smirk and… She couldn't quite identify what was behind his eyes.

"All kinds of meaning to these. Had a puppy one time, named Daisy. Dru ate the poor bugger, of course. She was always destroying things like that. Could never be happy to just let them blossom."

"What..?"

The sunlight peeked through the clouds, casting a warm light over Spike's face. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, basking for a moment. He didn't smoke or sizzle or turn to dust though. 

"Feels nice to be in the light for once." 

He took in a deep breath and smiled softly at her, his eyes sparkling blue in the sun. He looked so human. She knew better, of course, but… 

"Time to go, Slayer."

She took in a choked gasp of breath as she slammed back into reality. Spike's cool chest was bare against her face, and his arms were tight around her. The world jostled unevenly around her. He was running, she realized. 

"Spike..?" 

He barely glanced down at her, but she could feel the shaky breath as he took it in. Vampires didn't need to breathe. She knew that. Most of them didn't even bother to pretend. But Spike did it all the time, except for when he was asleep. The only time he couldn't consciously do it.

"Gonna be...just fine, Swee...Slayer. Got help now. We're almost there. Just hold on for me, okay?"

The world around her dissolved into darkness, replaced by a colorless mass of trees. She could see no path to follow in any direction. Branches seemed to reach for her, stretching out in the dark and snagging in her hair as she took stumbling steps.

Panic started to rise in her. She didn't know where she was, or where to go. She had no direction, no compass. No idea if she'd ever get out of there. And she was so alone, in the silence of the trees. The only sounds were her breathing heavily and twigs snapping beneath her feet.

"In the middle of our walk of life, I found myself within a forest dark, for the straightforward pathway had been lost."

"Spike?" 

He was concealed in shadows, blending into them so perfectly she almost couldn't see him. His voice was the only indication that he was even there, or where  _ there _ was. He stepped forward and dropped to his knees in front of her. Pale light danced over his features, casting sharp shadows on the valleys of his face.  _ Half in light, half in darkness. _

His hands came to rest on her hips, and he rested a cheek against her stomach. She tried to ignore the heat low in her gut that ignited at his touch. Dug her nails into her palms to keep from raking her fingers through his hair.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day..?"

"What are we doing here, Spike? What is this place?"

He stood suddenly, his eyes going dark as he pushed himself away from her.

"Trying to find the path, of course! You, you know the way. You've got the map. Got the compass, too. Always points the right way. I've got nothing. Nothing but  _ you _ , and what good does that do?"

"Spike…"

"You know what I am. Can't follow the sun, like you can."

He came close to her again, and bent so that his mouth was close to her ear. His cool breath fluttered across her skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

"But I'll let it burn me, anyway."

She opened her eyes, and found Spike again. They were outside now.  _ Outside. _ She'd thought she'd never get to see the stars again, or the moon. Never get another breath of crisp night air. Never feel the sting of it in her lungs. They were out. Spike had gotten her out.

Tears flowed from her eyes. God, she was free. 

"Where's the bloody car, watcher? You said it wasn't far!"

"We're… nearly there… should be in the next lot…"

"Oh, should be, should it? You're really taking that wanker at his word!?"

Giles panted next to them as they ran through the darkness. Giles was there. He'd come for her.

"No, I'm not. I've assured his cooperation. There it is! Get her loaded up and get behind the wheel. Unless you've got more medic training than I have."

She could feel herself starting to nod out again as she was laid across the back seat of a vehicle. Spike's hand was shaky as he touched her face, stroking where her tears still clung.

"Not leaving you, pet. I'm right here. Need to get someplace safe. Watcher is gonna fix you up, yeah?"

_ Don't leave me… _

She wanted to speak the words out loud, but she's drifted back into unconsciousness. The roof of the car had been replaced by a fireplace, the seat by a carpet.

A cabin. Cozy, warm. Much nicer than the forest had been. But there were little things that weren't so nice. Cracks in the walls. A thin layer of dust covering everything. Still, she felt safe there. Comfortable.

She’d almost drifted off when the humming started. A soft, strange tune that seemed to follow a normal pattern before drifting into something completely different. She rose to her feet, managing only a couple of steps before a familiar woman… wafted into the room. 

Drusilla. Swaying around the room with a lazy elegance, fingers flittering over the furniture as she moved, leaving trails in the dust. 

“Fairies,” she murmured, then brought her finger to her mouth in a shushing gesture. “Made of bits and bobs. Flecks of dead matter scattered all about in layers.”

Then she twirled gracefully before taking a dainty seat on the couch, a reminder of the proper lady she’d once been. She patted the cushion beside her in invitation. 

“Um, yeah, no thanks,” Buffy said. “I make it a point not to let my enemies be within biting distance.”

"Is that so?” Drusilla said with a sly smile. Then she laughed, a deranged cackle as she gleefully clapped her hands together. “But my little Spike….” 

She opened her mouth wide before snapping it shut in a biting motion. Then she moved suddenly, fast enough that she seemed to vanish.

“Not an enemy then, is he?” Dru’s voice from behind her, breath cool against the side of Buffy’s neck as the vampire spoke. 

Buffy swallowed thickly, goosebumps rising on her skin.  _ Just a dream, _ she told herself. Dru couldn’t hurt her here. 

“No,” she finally answered. “He’s not.”

Drusilla laughed softly -- sadly -- before moving away, motions gracefully sharp, like some sort of dancing spider. 

“I tried to warn him, you know. Mrs. Edith can be a filthy liar, but the stars… the stars always know, and they whispered their secrets on the wings of the pixies. I told him what they said, but he didn’t listen.” She glared at Buffy. “He refused to push you away. And now….”

She approached the fireplace and held her hands out to it. “Mustn’t touch, our kind. Must never, ever touch, lest we burn away. But he wouldn’t listen. Wouldn’t push you away. And now see what’s happened.” 

“Nothing’s happened. I don’t know what you think, but--”

“Oh, but it has, foolish child, and you haven’t a clue what it is you’ve done. My darling…"

The stone walls shook around them, low rumbling slowly building. Clicks and crashes joined in as small knicknacks and things fell to the floor Then it all came to a sudden stop.

"All that you know will crumble. Fall all around you like rain from the heavens."

Buffy awoke again, relieved to be out of the weird Drusilla madness dream. Then, just as quickly, not. Giles pushed a hand on her chest, holding her still as she became very aware of the burning pain in her abdomen.

"You must hold still, Buffy. The worst is nearly over. Spike? I'll need your belt."

The jingle of a buckle being undone, and the smooth sound of leather being pulled through loops came from close by.  _ The front seat _ , she realized. 

"You're gonna be just fine, Slayer. Flesh wound. That's all it is."

She could tell he was trying to reassure her, as he'd spent so many weeks doing. But his voice wavered. He wasn't as sure as he wanted her to believe. Even with Giles there, she wanted to reach out to Spike. She couldn't, though. Not yet.

"You'll want to bite down," Giles said, offering the leather belt to her. "This… Won't be pleasant." 

  
  
  
  


***

  
  


_ It’s a miracle. No organs or arteries were damaged, and it’s a clean exit. Straight through the muscle. Her blood loss is likely from the adrenaline. I think she’ll be just fine, Spike. The most pressing concern is an infection, but… Between the dose of antibiotics and her natural ability, I hardly think there’s reason to worry. Now, I am going to have a very much needed drink, and go to sleep. I suggest you do the same. _

His own wounds still needed tending, but they could wait. He wasn’t going to die of blood loss, or infection, or shock. Stake to the heart, or beheading. Or a nice morning walk. But not from a few gunshot wounds. Buffy on the other hand… Even if she was in stable condition now, he still felt the need to watch over her. Look for signs that she was going downhill. Everything that he was screamed to not let her out of his sight if he could help it. 

He’d tucked her into bed as soon as they’d got to Giles’s hideout, piling a few blankets on top of her to help maintain her body temperature, and taken up vigil on the floor. The watcher had come in a while later with a mug full of warmed blood. Donated stuff, the same kind they’d had in the Initiative, but without the bitter taste of sedatives. It made him sick to his stomach to drink it, but it was all they had available for the time being. It was better than nothing, and it would have to do. 

He could still barely believe she was alive. The thought of losing her kept coming back to him, reopening that black hole in his chest. She looked so peaceful as she slept, but she was so pale… She could almost be a corpse. If not for her slow breathing, and the sound of her heartbeat, he wouldn’t have known otherwise. He slipped a hand beneath the blankets, his fingers seeking her out hers, and grasping them tightly when he made contact. She was so warm. She was real, and there, and alive. And that was enough for him to let his own exhaustion finally claim him.

When he woke up, his hand was empty. The bed was cold. Buffy wasn’t in it.

He shot to his feet, already in a full blown panic, and bolted from the room. He paused for a moment in the hallway, outside the bathroom door. The scent of steam and something light and flowery lingered there, but it wasn’t fresh. She wasn’t in there anymore. He moved on, further down the hall and into the living area, forcing himself not to run. She was just up and about, right? She’d showered, and was probably just up watching telly or something. So he told himself, but it didn’t do anything to calm him down. But seeing Giles standing in front of the counter, calmly preparing a meal? That did wonders. If he wasn’t worried, Spike shouldn’t have been either.

“She’s on the beach,” he said simply as he stirred what was in the skillet. “She’s been out there for quite some time now.”

Spike strolled quickly across the room to the window. He could see through the sheer blinds that the sun was low in the sky, shades of red and orange blanketing as far as he could see, the fire in the clouds reflected against the rolling waves. And Buffy… God, she made him feel like he had breath to take. She was a silhouette, standing out in sharp contrast to the colors of the sunset, but she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

Shimmering radiance. The scintillating array of the sun naught but a pale backdrop to her magnificence. A glorious mirage before the setting sun. 

His chest ached in longing. He knew he didn’t belong in her world, from the very start. He was dark, while she was light. Two sides of a coin, destined to ever be back-to-back. Never side-by-side. Never to gaze into each other’s eyes, faces drawing close as they leaned in for a… But still, he could tread on the edges, like this. Watch her from afar, and join her when he was permitted. 

“I thought perhaps some fresh air would do her good. An open sky, some sunshine. It won’t make everything she’s been through go away, but… It may help her begin to move past it.”

Giles came to stand next to him, offering a mug of warm blood which Spike happily accepted. It took a lot of self control to not gulp it all down and ask for more. It wasn’t the bagged stuff from the night before. Animal, maybe cattle. And fresh. The watcher had gone to the butcher?

“Spike… I appreciate what you did for her in there. And I apologize, for having not heeded your words when you came to us for help. Much of this could have been avoided if we’d listened to you, and for that I’m sorry. What you did… It shows a depth of character that I did not expect. You have my gratitude.”

Spike took a few more sips from the mug, thinking about Giles’s words. “Why do I feel like this little speech of yours has a ‘but’ attached to it?” 

“Because it does,” Giles sat on the arm of the couch, a glass of scotch in hand. “I am… aware that your chip is no longer working. I saw Walsh.”

And there it was. He’d been hoping Giles had overlooked her body, to give him a buffer. Some time to prove to them that he was serious about trying to change. To prove it to Buffy. It was foolish to think he’d even get the chance.

“Figured as much. Well, lay it out for me, watcher. Gonna drive a stake through my heart next time I nod off? Or just shove me out the door right now and watch me burn?”

“Spike. I know. About your feelings for her.” Spike’s eyes shot up. “And I know that you may  _ think  _ they’re real-”

“You don’t know the  _ first  _ bloody thing about it,” he growled. “And you don’t know what happened in that place. To her, or me.”

There was no point in denying it. Not to somebody as sharp as Giles. But he wasn’t going to sit by and be mocked and told what he felt for Buffy wasn’t real. He wasn’t going to let it be dismissed as some kind of what? Vampiric stockholm syndrome? Giles really didn’t have the first clue about anything that happened in that place. He didn’t understand, and he never would. 

"You are a killer, Spike. I'll leave the decision of what to do about you up to her, but... Whatever has transpired between the two of you... It cannot go further. For her sake, I hope you know that."

He scoffed and strolled back over to the window to look out at her.  _ For Buffy’s sake. _ Yeah, he’d bet. Giles just didn’t want her shacking up with another vampire. But that wasn’t his choice to make. It was  _ hers _ . Nobody got to dictate who she did, or didn’t, let into her life. Nobody but her. And that was something Giles was going to have to deal with. Spike was quiet for a long moment before turning back to Giles. "Can't leave that up to her, too?"

"Buffy follows her heart. That's always been true. But it hasn't always steered her in the right direction. After what happened with Angel... Well, I’m sure you can understand."

"Angelus is a wanker." 

"We are in agreement on that matter. Still... You can't be trusted not to give in to your baser instincts."

"Oh, right. Because I'm not all soulful and brooding? At least my baser instincts don't involve deflowering a teenager. Look, watcher. I know you're all protective and whatnot. I get that. I'm not gonna do anything she doesn't want me to. No killing, no feeding. I'll figure out the rest as we go.”

Giles took a gulp of his drink and sighed before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you truly intend to pursue a relationship with her? You can’t possibly think-”

“Well, that’s not really up to you now, is it? Now, you can try to deter me all you want. Threaten me. I don’t care. I’m  _ not _ going to abandon her. She’s had enough men in her life do that already. I won’t be the next.”

Giles stared at him, a perplexed look on his face. Finally he sighed and pushed himself off the arm of the couch. “I see.” He walked over to the tiny stove, and gave the skillet a final stir before turning the heat off. “Spike. I’m going to make myself perfectly clear. If you aren’t genuine… If you hurt her in any way, it will be the end of you. If it takes my dying breath, I will make sure-”

“Dust. Yeah, I got it. That stuff ready? Get her a plate ready, I’ll go fetch her. Sun’s set now. She shouldn’t be out in the cold.”

Spike turned away without another word and walked through the door. As much as he wanted to go back in and bite that pompous ass of a father figure, he knew he couldn’t. And he knew he wouldn’t. He just wished that they’d know it, too. He wasn’t… the way they all thought he was. If nothing else, he was loyal to a fault. Sure, he’d make mistakes. Slip up from time to time. He was a vampire after all, not a saint. He didn’t have the moral direction that humans did. But he did have Buffy, sort of. She’d see to it he stayed in line. Right?


	22. Chapter 22

They'd returned to find the Initiative in a complete systems failure. No power, no communications, no security measures. Nothing. No people. Well, that wasn't completely true. There were plenty of bodies, scattered all over the place. Literally. Riley had no idea what Buffy's friends had unleashed on that place, but one thing was certain: 

Even if he hadn't cleared out their best operatives, it wouldn't have made a difference in anything but the human body count.

He had been a soldier for seven years, since the age of eighteen. He’d seen a lot in that time, but this…. Staring at the carnage, he felt numb. Disconnected. Like there was wool stuffed in his brain, muffling everything around him. He heard his men, understood what they were saying, but it all came to him through that layer of wool.

_ How did this happen? _

He didn't know what to tell his men. That he was the one responsible for the deaths of all their coworkers and the end of their operation? That he'd led them away so that a captive had a better chance of escape? That he was the proverbial spanner in the works? No. He couldn't tell them that. They’d find the closest brig to throw him in, call a court martial, and have him stripped of all his military credentials by the end of the week. He’d be labeled as a traitor, and he’d live out the rest of his days locked away; in disgrace. 

He couldn’t tell them the truth without giving up everything in his life that meant something. But he could skirt the truth. They needed leadership. They needed… More than he could give at that moment, but he could at least try to give them some closure. Some guidance. Some idea of where to go next, what to do. And try to work that out for himself in the process.

Somebody, or something, saw an opportunity and took it. A full on assault. Maybe the demons and mystics had finally had enough, decided to band together and fight back in force. They could have put a tracker on him before he escaped the cave. Maybe that was the only reason he'd made it out alive. The reason there'd been no demons there when they'd arrived.

_ We were only gone for an hour! _

If the number of demons in that town decided to descend all at once, it wouldn't have taken them any time to clear the place. Not when there weren't soldiers stationed there. Not when the security systems were offline. Something had knocked them out before the attack. There'd been no distress signal sent out, no call for reinforcements. It was likely that their communication abilities had been taken down first, then security. 

_ Everybody is dead! _

Maybe not everybody. They needed to do a thorough sweep of the entire compound. Look for any survivors. If they found anybody wounded, they needed to get them medical attention immediately. Their first stop would need to be the medical bay, to grab supplies. They couldn't afford to split up. They needed to put out a distress call as well. Get some back up on the way.

_ All the demons have escaped! How are we supposed to round them all back up? _

They weren't going to round them all back up. If there were any still there, they'd be eliminated, no questions asked. There was no point now in bothering with live captures. They didn't have time to waste on it, and the more demons they killed, the less would be back on the streets. The Initiative as they knew it was gone. No more scientists. No more studies. Kill it, move on to the next. Simple. The way it used to be, back when he first signed on.

They gathered up the weapons and supplies they could carry with them and mobilized, moving in formation and clearing the halls one room at a time. A few straggling demons remained, wandering and looking for a way out. They didn't stand a chance against Riley and his platoon, and were dispatched with ease.

They cleared the containment wing, moved on to the secured labs, then came Buffy's specialized experiment area. The demons down in the pit were easy to snipe off. It was almost impressive to see how many of them had already been taken out before they'd arrived. By Buffy. Then one of his men came across Maggie…

Riley had never expected it to hurt as much as it did to see her like that. Yes, she’d lost her way. Got so caught up in the science aspect of it and lost the part where they were eliminating threats. But still… She’d been like a mother to him, for years. She’d helped guide him, shaped the way he saw the world, for better or for worse. She was always dedicated to expanding her knowledge. She wanted to change the world.Her work came before everything else in her life, and nobody could say otherwise. She was a brilliant woman, and she didn’t deserve...

Her throat had been ripped out, savagely. Viciously. And they all knew exactly who did it. 

_ We need to avenge Professor Walsh. That Slayer bitch is gonna pay for this. Her and her vampire boyfriend. _

_ I’m with Forrest on that. They can’t have gotten far. We’ll get a bead on them, track ‘em down. Take ‘em out. _

Riley had no words. Everything he’d worked toward was gone. Maggie was gone. His men’s faith in him was shaky. He didn’t know where his loyalties were, or what was right and wrong anymore. All he knew was that Sunnydale was a distant reflection in his rearview mirror, and tomorrow would only bring more uncertainty.

Riley wasn’t so sure revenge was the right course of action to take though, and the little prawn in his head painfully reminded him of what would happen if he didn’t deter others from trying. The only thing they really  _ could _ do, to honor Walsh’s memory, was to carry on her work of helping humanity in the fight against evil. They’d pack up whatever personal effects they felt like taking with them, and disappear. They’d go to HQ, get a new assignment. New orders. And Riley would have to explain everything that had happened, to the best of his ability.

And maybe, hopefully, the thing would get out of his brain, and he could try to move on.

  
  


***

  
  


Two days had passed already. They’d floated a feather from a down pillow, and turned the dust into glitter, and done all kinds of neat little tricks together to work on getting their energies in sync and honing their focus. There’d been magic and sparks a plenty. But not the kind that Willow had been hoping for. The kind that manifested butterflies in your stomach in a very non-hex-y kind of way. The kind that made you see stars in a room during the daytime. The kind of magic that made you believe in magic in the first place.

It was kind of a let down for her, and she was trying hard not to show her disappointment but she could feel it starting to affect how she was being with Tara. And how her mood in turn was affecting how Tara was being with her. A sort of miffed distance was forming between them. A rift filled with all the words that neither of them could say to the other. Which only made Willow feel worse.

Tara had taken to silence, her shy submissive demeanor amplified by the fact that there was nothing else there to occupy their minds. No television, no books, no board games. Not even a deck of cards so that they could sullenly play go fish. The only thing that broke the silence were occasional sighs. Little huffs of breath that were meant to convey something, but that  _ something _ was an unknown.

Willow had hoped that by now… She and Tara could have been snuggled together on one of the tiny beds, making magic of their own. Whispering sweet nothings to each other while basking in the sunshine. Enjoying each other's company in a new and exciting way. Not sending dejected looks at each other from across the room.

Instead of laughing together, they were doing nothing… Separately.

And it was eating her up inside. She wanted so badly to put her feelings into words, to make them roll off her tongue and out of her mouth. She wanted Tara to know how loved she was. How amazing. How she'd picked Willow up out of a deep depression, held her hand, and led her into the light. How everything between them felt so right and so natural. She didn't want Tara to feel like she needed to hide how she felt. She didn't want her to be shutting down at the first sign that something might not be all hunky dory. She wanted Tara to feel safe with her. Secure.

On the third day, she decided she'd at least  _ try _ to lighten the mood.

"You think Giles will contact us soon? It would be nice to, you know, go do something," she tried over breakfast.

"Oh, uh… Yeah? I-I was thinking m-maybe we could get s-some coffee, or-or a shake."

Willow didn't miss that Tara's stutter had returned, or that she wouldn't make direct eye contact. It hurt, to see her so unsure of herself. All because Willow couldn't just… Be content to be close friends. She'd let her own wants and desires change how she treated Tara, and now… 

She let out a soft sigh and reached out, placing her hand on Tara's forearm. 

"Hey… are you alright? I didn't mean… I don't want to upset you. I know my mood hasn't been the greatest. I'm just all…" she waved a hand in the air. "I'm just really worried about them, is all. And the not knowing if everybody is okay? Not so great for my brain."

Tara gave her a soft smile, mixed with immense relief. "Willow… That spell we did… not even bullets could hurt Buffy. Not really. I'm sure they're just fine."

"Yeah, I guess so… It's just- why is it taking so long for Giles to contact us then, you know? If everything is fine, couldn't he let us know?"

Tara shrugged. "Waiting for the dust to settle? Or for the Initiative to decide to close up? Maybe Buffy just needed some time to adjust before getting all the hugs from friends and family? She's been through a really traumatic thing."

"Yeah… you're right," Willow thought about it for a minute, then perked up. "You're right! They're probably all just fine." 

"If you wanted to, later today, we could… do a spell to check in on everybody? There's this one I know. Normally you'd need a picture of the person, but I think we can work it without that."

Willow nodded with enthusiasm. "I'd really like that. Kind of, put the worry aside and know for sure that everybody got out alright."

She wanted to suggest a spell to see how many people were left at the Initiative base as well, to see how many needed to clear out still, but she didn't want to push it. At least she and Tara were talking again, even if it wasn't exactly what Willow had wanted to say.

Any words were better than no words. And even if it turned out that Tara wasn't interested in her romantically, Willow still really valued her friendship. She didn't want her own emotions to ruin what they had. So she could wait a while longer.

***

As interesting a life as he'd lived, babysitting Ethan day in and day out had already lost its shiny newness. They'd swapped stories about vengeance and mysticism, run-ins with demons and the law, grandiose escapes which were almost certainly embellished. Much to Xander's dismay, of course. God forbid anybody encourage her to take pride in her many, many years as a demon and the vast knowledge that came with them.

As much as she loved him, he could certainly take notes on how to interact without being judgemental. And how to not be blatantly jealous over a man who was clearly no competition. Ethan was past his prime, and while he was was fun to chat with... sex with him? No thank you.

Besides, he had that whole thing going on with Giles, and she'd scorned more than a few hundred cheaters in her life. She knew better than to go down that road.

No, the sex she actually  _ wanted  _ to be having, she couldn't. Xander flat out refused, on account of Ethan being there, and also him sleeping in the only actual bed. Giles really needed some better safe houses. The bed wasn't being used during the day, though! Ethan was only handcuffed to it at night so he couldn't try to run away or murder them in their sleep. Very valid points she tried to make.

Ethan might hear them, or Ethan could walk in on them. Ethan could blah blah blah. It was just sex, what was the big freaking deal?

And now she was in such a bad mood from the whole situation that she was snappy and grumpy and she just wanted to leave already. And they still had no word from Giles. It was just waiting, trying to fill the time in between sleeping, and more waiting. The whole thing sucked, and she hoped she never had to put up with anything like it again.

A few days cooped up in a danky old house with nothing to do was enough to drive her stir crazy. She couldn't even imagine what Buffy had gone through, what with the actual torture and everything. And the weeks upon weeks. No windows. Nothing to do.

Well, maybe not nothing. She did have Spike there with her after all, and Anya wasn't stupid, as much as people wanted to think she was. Military boy had told Giles they'd been getting close to each other, and you didn't have to be a mind reader to figure out exactly what he meant by it. Or at least, she didn't need to be.

The others, though… well, they willingly pulled the wool over their eyes and then added more wool on top of it, and when the obvious tried to scream at them, they stuffed even more wool into their ears. She could already hear Xander when he realized the implications. More of the 'What? How? What?' was to come, that much was for sure. And probably a lot of disgusted faces, a few more hours of listening to his bigoted views about how all demons were bad, despite the fact that he was dating one.

Spike was, what, a little over a century old? How high could his body count really be? She'd been alive for over eleven hundred years. But nobody was condemning her for all the people she'd brutally murdered over the centuries. And they had been brutal. She was the best vengeance demon alive, and everybody knew it. Until Xander came along, anyway.

Willow got all kissy-faced with him when he had a concussion, leading to that wish from Cordellia. And that disaster led to her power source being destroyed. Being human really sucked. She couldn't teleport, she could barely lift heavy stuff on her own, and always had to rely on Xander for things like that. And establishing an actual identity? Not that easy.

At least Xander was… Mostly good to her. He tried. And he wanted to be helpful and understanding to her. She was sure he didn't actually realize how it might bother her when he talked badly about all demons. Sure, a lot of them loved the violence and the fight and things like that. She certainly had, and she'd been damn good at it, too. But that wasn't all there was to them.

They had their little quirks, the things that made them stand out as unique to their kind. Whether it be a hobby, or an interest, or what have you. Hallie, for example. Loved children, and not as food. That was something of a rarity among demons. There were lots of things that looked at infants and children as something of a delicacy.

When Anya thought about it, Spike was… Well, kind of like Xander. Good boyfriend material, for the right kind of person. For a Slayer kind of person. Super strength, speed, stamina. Awake at night to help her with patrols. And he'd actually be able to help, unlike pretty much any living human. And after a century alive, he probably wasn't a slouch in bed, and orgasms were really great for unwinding.

That wasn't even taking into account his personality. His entire unlife committed wholly to a sickly insane vampire. The care and devotion that took? Nothing to scoff at. And if that kind of devotion were directed at Buffy... Well, Anya could only hope that it was sincere. Enough men had walked out of her life already. Buffy deserved somebody who would be good to her. 

Anya was sprawled across the easy chair, bored out of her mind with the lack of things to do when she heard it. A soft kind of cough, like somebody clearing their throat in a church in the middle of services.

She tilted her head back, searching for the source of the noise, and nearly fell off her chair.

"Giles!"

He was finally there! Well, not  _ there _ there, but… The top half of him was reflected in the mirror that was hanging on the back of the front door. A bit out of focus, like he was under water, but he was there. 

“Basem Datorum.” He spoke clearly, then sighed. “The Initiative is no more. Kindly gather up your things and convene at my flat as soon as you can.”

"You don't have to tell me twice. Xander! We can leave now!"

"Anya… Before you go, Ethan… Do keep an eye on him. We can't afford for him to slip away now. Not with Loki's trinket."

She rolled her eyes, but nodded. "Can I break his knees if he tries to run?" She asked, but Giles was already gone. Just like that. 

Oh well. She was just glad to finally be able to get out of there. 


	23. Chapter 23

There was something very bittersweet in leaving the quietness of the coast and heading back to Sunnydale. Back home. Back to the Hellmouth. Back to normalcy (such as it was, for her), and living her life. Back to human contact. Her friends. Her mom. Back to fighting demons every night. Back to being the Slayer.

It hardly seemed real. 

She’d never actually thought she’d see the sun again. Never thought she’d be going  _ home. _ To her mom. Thinking about the future hadn’t really been an option when she was… It would have been too much. If she’d thought about that moment of being pulled into a hug by her friends, or her mom, it would have broken her. She couldn’t allow herself to dream about it. All she could do was take it one day at a time. One hour at a time. Get through that, and the next, and the next, and try to hold out hope that somehow, one of those moments would lead to the outside world. But she’d never really expected it to happen.

Like winning the lottery. If the lottery meant killing vampires and getting to take a shower to wash their ashes out of your hair afterwards.

The lines in the road blurred together, the desert rushing by them in the darkness. A huge expanse of nothing, as far as she could see. Nobody said anything, and that was just fine with her. Her mind was running in circles, trying to figure out what those dreams had meant, trying to figure out if everything was real. Maybe she’d actually died and this was what she got for a heaven. It was all so surreal. She almost felt sick, in a way. Her entire body refused to relax fully, no matter how much she told it to. 

She kept feeling like she’d missed a step on the staircase. Her heart leaping randomly in her chest and making her palms clam up. Something should have been trying to kill her. The military would show up at any second, and there’d be a big fight for their lives again. The tire could blow, and they'd be stranded out in the middle of the desert with a vampire as the sun rose. Spike would turn to dust, and the world would crumble around her. Wasn’t that what Drusilla had said?

She just wanted it to be over.  _ Really _ over. She wanted her brain to catch up with reality, and accept that she was free, and the Initiative was effectively destroyed, and nobody was going to be coming after her in her sleep. She’d had enough nightmares already. And Spike…

God, she didn’t even know where they stood anymore. Where  _ she  _ stood. He’d made it perfectly clear where he stood. He’d be perfectly happy if things between them remained the same as they’d been in there.  _ Fond of what we have… _

It shouldn’t have been  _ that _ hard. William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers. Stake him, move on to the next. He wasn’t chipped. He had no soul. Nothing was stopping him from popping up out of the back seat and sinking his fangs into her throat. Not a damn thing. Nothing but… not wanting to now? But why didn’t he want to? And why did she feel the same way? Because the only thing that stopped her from grabbing Mr. Pointy out of the glove box and ramming it into Spike’s heart? She didn’t want to.

And wasn’t that something? A place to start? But start what, exactly? It was too much to think about yet. 

Her chest tightened as they pulled up in front of her house. It was a weird combination of emotions. Fear, nervousness, but also relief. Seeing her front porch again, her house. The lights still on in the middle of the night, bright and inviting. Her mom’s face peering out of the living room window, relief washing over it when she saw the car pull up. It was all  _ too  _ much. She wanted to cry the moment she was in her mom’s arms. Like a little kid who’d got lost in the grocery store and was just reunited at the service desk. 

Nothing had changed. She didn’t know why she was expecting it to be… different, somehow. Like all that time she’d been gone should have made some impact on her own little world. Like everything should have shifted a little? But maybe she was the one who had shifted. She felt so out of place in her own home. Like she was a stranger.

_ Maybe doing normal Buffy things with Buffy’s stuff will help… _

Showering in her very own bathroom, with her own loofah, and her own body wash, her own shampoo… It felt amazing. But it didn’t make her feel more like herself. The grime was gone, but the feel of that place still remained no matter how much she scrubbed. No matter how raw her skin was. She stayed in long after all the hot water was used, and it turned so frigid that it stung.

She didn’t know how long she’d been in there, but eventually Spike knocked on the door to check on her. When she didn’t answer him, he let himself in, shut the water off while averting his eyes, and handed her a bath robe. She wrapped it around herself, relishing in the soft fabric.

“Oh, Buffy… What've you done to yourself? Come on, pet. Need to get you warmed up.”

He took her hand, led her to her bedroom, and helped her towel herself dry before finding something soft and loose for her to wear. Clothing that wouldn’t put too much pressure on her wound or irritate skin that had been scrubbed beyond raw. She felt so… helpless. Still. They were out, and she should have been able to stand up on her own two feet and get her own clothes. She shouldn’t have needed his help with something so simple. She shouldn’t have  _ let _ him. There should have been something inside screaming about the indignity of being cared for by a vampire. 

But there wasn’t. There was nothing. 

“There. Much better, yeah? These clothes alright? Watcher said something about needing to make another stop. Wasn’t sure if you’d be up to it or not, but… Figured if you were, I’d get you something to go out in. Else, I got you these uh, sushi?”

As tempting as the pajamas were, she figured she was already dressed, and he was probably waiting. She was obligated. Normal Buffy would have no problem going to see her friends after a long day. Scooby meetings were important. Part of that whole Slayer life package. Right there alongside long nights, no rest, and patrols. No big deal, right? It wasn’t like she still had to worry about classes during the day now. 

***

She wished she’d had the energy to tell Giles she didn’t have the energy.  _ The others will want to see you. We’ve all been terribly worried.  _ Sure, she’d said. Why not? It was the middle of the night, and she was exhausted, and all she wanted to do was put on those sushi pajamas and crawl into her own bed and go to sleep. But she had obligations, or something. She couldn’t remember exactly what she’d said in her little self-pep talk. She stared out the window as they made the drive, much as she’d done on the trek through the desert earlier that day. Watching the world fly by her, moving too fast. She glanced back occasionally, and offered a tired smile to Spike. He sat in the back seat, just as silent as she was, glaring daggers at the back of Giles’s head. At least one of them could do so unnoticed. They both knew he couldn’t see the expression in the mirror.

By the time they pulled up in front of Giles’s apartment, Buffy had mentally checked out. Autopilot mode. She figured as long as she could pretend to be Normal Buffy, everything would be just fine. She’d get back into the swing of things eventually. Until then, she could be the “there and attentive” friend. She could smile and nod and laugh at stupid jokes. She could make plans to go out and act human. She remembered how to do all those things. She could pretend to already be back in the swing, right? 

Everybody rushed out when they pulled in the driveway, running to the car and practically pulling her out of it and into more painful hugs. She wasn’t sure any of them even noticed the way she pulled back.

_ Buffy! She’s here! You’re here! Are you okay? _

Hands on her shoulders ushered her inside quickly, and onto Giles’s couch, and then shoved a mug of something warm into her hands. She never bothered to drink it. Then they just… bombarded her. A never ending string of questions and statements as they crowded too close and stood over her and blocked her in. She felt so trapped, and so attacked, and all she wanted to do was run.

But Normal Buffy wouldn’t run from her friends. So she couldn’t either.

_ Are you okay? What happened to you in there? Should we take her to a doctor?  _

_ Give ‘er some space. _

“I’m okay… I’m gonna be  _ fine _ ,” she insisted, glancing over to Spike. The one person in the entire room who was more than a couple of feet away from her. The only one who was giving her room to breathe.

_ Why is  _ he _ here?What was it like in there? Can we get you anything, Buf? We really got you out! I can’t believe we really did it. We should celebrate! Think you’re feeling up to a night at the Bronze? We could dance away all the badness! _

“I-I can’t…”

_ It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about anything. Pizza? Let’s order a pizza! It’s two in the morning, we can’t order a pizza. _

One question stuck in her mind more than any others.  _ Why is he here? _ Because she wanted him to be. Simple as that. Because he was her pillar of strength in that moment. Because he had been, for weeks. Because he was the only one that didn’t have all these huge expectations of her.

“Hey! I said, give her some  _ space. _ ” Spike stood and took a few menacing steps toward the group.

“Right, and what exactly are you going to do about it, Spike? Got the brain zapper, remember?”

“No, no, Spike is - he’s right. We should just all, be quiet and let buffy tell us what she needs. Buffy?”

They all stood over her, looking down with expectant eyes. They all just… thought she’d be up and raring to go right away. Pop back into her role in life. Never mind the bullet wound in her stomach. The malnutrition. The blood loss. The exhaustion. The psychological damage. No, none of that mattered. It barely even registered for them. Just snap back and get back to slaying. Kill those baddies. Put your life on the line every night again. Don’t take any time to recover. Had enough time off for the last three months, right? They had no idea what she’d been through. No idea what she was still going through. 

“I  _ know  _ what she bloody needs.”

Spike shoved his way between them, knocking Xander back and growling. He pulled Buffy up gently, one hand on her shoulder, and led her out of there. Nobody even tried to follow, or objected, or apologized. Not a peep. Out in the courtyard, he twined his fingers into hers and set a nice easy walking pace. 

“Sorry, pet. Just couldn’t take any more of that. Can’t imagine you could, either. You alright? Let’s get you back home to Joyce. Least she won’t get in your face. She’s got more class than that lot of wankers. Ought to be ashamed of themselves for even making you go there. Couldn’t have waited a few days for you to settle in?”

“Thank you…”

A few days, or even just taking the time to meet her at home. Home…. Where they had already been, and it suddenly infuriated her, that she’d been asked to leave that place of safety just so everyone could bombard her with questions that they didn’t even seem to want the answers to. But now she was going back. Spike was taking her home.

***

The atmosphere in her own home was so different from what she’d gone through at Giles’s place. It was warm, and quiet, and calm. Happy. She could relax there. And it seemed that Spike could, too. Her mom was more than happy to invite him inside graciously, thank him for taking care of her baby and for getting her home safely. She busied herself in the kitchen brewing up three cups of hot cocoa on the stove and adding the little marshmallows on top. It was amazing to see Spike’s face soften at the gesture when he spotted his own mug.

“Didn’t have to go to all that trouble, Joyce.”

“Oh nonsense, Spike. After everything you’ve done for Buffy, it’s the least I can do. I made a trip to the butcher this morning, too. So if you need… I can warm it up for you.”

“Mmm, thanks ever so.” He smiled warmly and raised the mug before taking a sip. 

Buffy watched him, taking in every little thing he did. How different he was now. But maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he’d always been that way, and she’d never had a chance to notice it before. The way his smile made him look much younger, almost boyish. How he was quiet and shy around her mom. The realization that he was a person hit her like a ton of bricks. Yeah, he was a vampire. A murderer. But he was also a man. One who felt things deeply, and cared for her, and showed compassion and restraint. Empathy. All things that the Council had taught for centuries wasn’t supposed to be possible. They wanted to believe it was black and white. Vampire evil. Kill it. But maybe… they could change? Maybe Spike could?

_ Look, Slayer. In case you haven't noticed, things have... changed between us. I'm not sorry they have.  _

_ A man can change. _

_ I am telling you, right now, I’m not going anywhere. I’ve grown… kind of fond of what we’ve got going here. _

And she wanted so badly to believe him. God, she  _ really _ wanted to. But how could she? A century spent ending lives to sustain his own, and he’d loved every minute of it. That’s what vampires did. It’s what they were. And she hadn’t forgotten that. A few months spent with a chip in his head didn’t change what he was, or the things he enjoyed, or the urges he felt. They weren’t gone. They hadn’t changed. He hadn’t. All the chip had done was give them enough time together to form a bond that never should have existed. To cause confusing emotions, and clouded judgement, and weird mixed signals. As much as she wanted to believe Spike, to believe  _ in _ him, she knew how naive it would be. How much damage he could cause if she let her guard down.

“Buffy? You with us, pet? You’re not looking so good.”

She shook her head, bringing herself out of her thoughts. “I’m just tired. Long day.”

He offered her a twitch of a smile before standing and offering her a hand. “Come on. Think it’s time you got some relaxing time. Let’s get you settled in, yeah?”

She let him help her up. Let him fuss over her. Let him wrap his arm around her and lead her into the living room while her mother quietly watched and followed them. Her mom…. The few times she’d seen Angel, there had been fear and disapproval. But with Spike….

Spike slipped his duster off, making himself at home before pulling her down onto the couch next to him. 

Despite her qualms, she curled up next to him. It was so customary for them now, she didn’t think twice about it. He twisted toward her so she could rest against his chest, and wrapped one arm protectively around her shoulder. Like he’d done so many times before. His steady breathing brought her that familiar calm that he’d been bringing her for months. The feeling that she was… safe.  _ He  _ was safe. He was just a man, sitting on the couch with a girl he’d grown  _ fond _ of.

_ Just a man. It’s Spike. The guy who saved your life how many times now? At least as many as he’s tried to take it. Who had the opportunity to kill you or watch you die, and he chose to help. He  _ chose _ to. He could’ve killed Giles. Killed you. And he didn’t. He promised to get you out, and he did. And he promised… so many other things. Promised he wouldn’t leave. Promised he wouldn’t hunt.  _

_ A man can change. _

_ He isn’t a man. He’s a monster. A vampire. That’s all he’ll ever be. A blood sucker. A killer. William the bloody, Slayer of Slayers. _

_ No, _ she argued back to herself.  _ I’ve seen it. He can. He is. He’s trying. It’s not going to be all… butterflies and puppy dogs, but… Even before the chip. With Acathla. It might’ve been a stupid reason, but he did the right thing. He helped save the world. He saved  _ you. _ Doesn’t that earn him anything? _

She and Spike had been through… a lot. Hell and back. And they’d done it together, and the only reason for that was that he’d gone in there on his own to help her. A decision that  _ he’d _ made. She’d still be in there if it wasn’t for him.

She owed him so much. Everything. Her life. 

She knew that. Really. 

_ What would your friends think, if they knew exactly how close you two are now? If they knew you’d given him blood? That you almost slept with him? That you still want to? If they knew that you believe every softly spoken lie he’s told you?  _

And she did believe _ every _ word. They’d shun her. Treat her like she was an idiot. Maybe she was. Her heart and head fought back and forth, like an angel and devil on her shoulders, and she tried so hard to ignore them. To focus on the moment she was in, where she really was safe, and with people that loved her. That understood, and were just  _ there _ with her. Doing their very best to be what she needed. 

And it was kind of nice, watching her mom and Spike interact with each other. Talking about whatever melodramatic event was currently happening on Passions. Her mom filling in the blanks for him. Angel never… bothered to even try to be friendly with her mom. And Joyce never liked him. They’d never had cocoa together, or spent time as a…  _ family? _

Is that what he was now?

***

She didn’t know exactly how it happened. She’d just gone for a glass of water before bed. And Spike had been sitting at the island, and then she’d said something to him, and the next moment he was in her personal space, and he was just so close, and…

His lips were firm against hers. Firm, but also soft. Demanding, but sweet. And then his tongue.... A gentle lick, asking permission, and then it swept inside, boldly exploring her mouth like newly conquered territory. It danced with her own, caressing and gliding as she tried to match and counter the movements. Blunt teeth scraped against her bottom lip, eliciting a soft gasp.

God, he was a good kisser.

She wanted more. Before, there hadn’t been time for it. Or there’d been eyes watching. But now… It was just the two of them. Alone. And she clung to him like a life line in an ocean. She pulled him closer, her fingers digging into his biceps. His mouth moved from hers, trailing down her jawline and neck, sucking her overly sensitive skin and pausing on her shoulder. He nibbled and kissed, one hand exploring while the other tangled in her hair and tugged  _ just  _ right. So desperate and needy and demanding of  _ something _ , and she felt the same need. The desire for _ more. _ More of him. All of him. Her hands slid down, yearning and searching for bare skin. Skin she'd been wanting to touch from the moment she'd first laid eyes on it. She tugged the hem of his shirt up and splayed her fingers over his stomach. Smooth and cool, and it made his breath hitch.

"Buff..."

Her back hit the counter and he lifted her onto it, spreading her legs with his hips and pushing against her. Bolts of pleasure shot through her at the friction. His mouth was back on her in an instant, kissing her in earnest. 

_ This is wrong. _

She let out a gasp as his fingers grazed over her breast. He descended, biting down lightly through the fabric of her shirt and God, why was that so  _ hot? _ She raked her fingers through his hair, holding him there and arching into the sensation.

_ You need to stop. _

"Spike..."

_ You can’t do this with him. _

He kissed her neck again, sending waves of pleasure down to her core and making her feel like she was floating. He bit down with human teeth, and she felt it for the first time in what felt like forever.

Fear.

_ He could kill you right now and you’d never even notice he’d shifted. _

“Stop…” He froze, his lips hovering just above her skin, their absence leaving her feeling cold. “Spike, I can’t… I’m sorry.”

He sighed softly and rested his forehead on her collarbone. “Don’t need to be sorry, pet.”

“I just need some space right now. A little time to think, and breathe.”

“Don’t need to explain, either. Told you we’d figure things out later. Not like I’m going anywhere, right?”

She pushed him away from her as gently as she could. There wasn’t an easy way to say it. “Actually… I- I need you to go…”

The hurt and confusion on his face… That would be seared into her memory for a long time. They’d just been… and now she was kicking him out of her house, just before sunrise. She hated herself for doing it.

He tilted his head, leaning in ever so slightly. “Buffy..? Did I do…”

“I can’t be strong with you here. And I don’t… even know what  _ this _ is. Please. Don’t make this harder than it…”

The way he looked at her made her want to cry. She’d never seen him look vulnerable. He gave her a slight nod, grabbed his coat, and walked out. No arguing, no trying to convince her otherwise. No guilt tripping. Just quiet acceptance. The moment the door shut behind him, it felt like there was a hole in her chest. It took all of her self control not to run out after him and beg him to stay. 

Spike was gone. 

  
  
  



	24. Chapter 24

Knew it was only a matter of time before she came to her senses. He was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner, really. Not that it made the sting of rejection any less painful. God, he’d been such an idiot, pushing her like that. Wanted too much, too soon. Bloody stupid to think she was ready. That she’d let him into her life, just like that. Couldn’t lower herself that much. Couldn’t be with somebody like him. Not even in the dead of night when nobody would know, and certainly not openly.

But she’d been alright, around her mum. Lost in thought, sure, but… She’d been  _ with  _ him. Curled up against him like she always was when she needed a bit of comfort. That was something. Small crumb of hope, and that was all he needed. Hell, even if she hadn’t given him that much, wouldn’t have stopped him trying. He had to do what he could. Even if that meant giving her space.

Distance was supposed to make the heart grow fonder, right?

He was bloody lucky enough to find an empty crypt in the nearest cemetery. Much as he loved the Slayer, it was a bitch move to kick him out right before dawn like that. He’d had to book it, sprinting as fast as he could toward Restfield, hoping he got there before the sun peeked over the horizon. He didn’t fancy spending the day wandering through the sewers. Between his erection rubbing against his jeans, and the bullet still working its way out of his rib cage, he was in excruciating pain by the time he kicked the door open and threw himself inside.

Should’ve tried to argue with her. Tried to get her to at least let him crash in the basement until nightfall. Promise he’d stay out of her sight, quiet as a mouse. She’d never even know he was there. God, he couldn’t believe he’d already let her out of his sight. So much for watching her back. She was still in rough shape. No matter what her Watcher said, if those bastards decided to come back to town for revenge, she was a sitting duck. He’d promised himself he’d be there for her. Keep her safe. And he hadn’t even tried to put up a fight. He’d just turned and ran. Like every other wanker of a man in her life had.

If anything happened to her… That was on him. For not being there when she needed him to be…

Couldn’t be strong with him there. Yeah, he’d just bet. Couldn’t stop herself from putting her hands all over his body, is what that was. She was just scared. He wasn’t stupid. She had to feel  _ something _ for him. She wasn’t exactly the type to lock lips and hips with just anybody. Had to feel some kind of connection to them. Even that Parker git.  _ Oi, there’s a thing to do.  _

No, she had to have some kind of feelings for him. Otherwise she would’ve just killed him when Walsh gave her the chance. Wouldn’t have been crying like she’d been at the thought of him being dead. Wouldn’t have fought by his side. There was something there, he just had to be patient with her. Let her work it out on her own, in her own way. In her own time. That’s exactly what she’d asked of him, right? She already knew it. Somewhere in there. All he had to do was wait it out. She’d come to him when she was ready to.

And in the meantime, he’d be trying his damnedest to figure out how to be a good man for her. Don’t kill, don’t hunt. That part was obvious. She protected people, fought the bad guys, saved the world. That was the black and white. Kill demons instead of people. He could manage that. But he knew it wouldn’t be enough. It wouldn’t make him  _ good _ . He didn’t know if he even could be. He didn’t exactly have a moral compass, other than her, and there was so much more gray area than he’d thought.

All he wanted was to get a few hours of rest, and go out on the town, and do what came naturally to him. What his instincts had been telling him to do for the last century. Go kill someone. Something. Anything. Embrace it.  _ Feed. _ Months of hospital bags and pig’s blood didn’t compare to that feeling. Scanning a crowd and finding the perfect person. Somebody social. Open. Vulnerable. That first whiff of excitement. The anticipation building. Knowing what would soon be happening. A heart pounding so hard that it pushed the blood into his mouth without him having to draw it out. Hot and thick and tinged with fear and arousal. The way their pulse slowed just as he finished drinking his fill. That feel of them going limp in his arms. Knowing that their death made his unlife possible.

Made a man feel invincible. Immortal. Complete. There was nothing so pure as fulfilling your purpose in life every single night.  _ Knowing _ what that purpose was. He was a killer. An evil, soulless monster. His human life had never had direction. Poetry and parties and social graces. At least his death had served Drusilla. He’d given his life to sustain hers. And he’d been reborn, for one reason. And he’d known with certainty, the moment he woke up in that coffin, what that reason was. To be like her. To go where he liked, to do what he wanted. To kill who he wanted. And as long as he did that, he was satisfied.

And if he ever did it again… Buffy would kill him. And he’d let her.

He didn’t want that anymore, no matter what his cells were screaming at him. How the hunger nagged in his stomach. How he could feel his fangs itching to be used. Even if that was the singular thought in his head as the minutes turned into hours. Walsh was the last. The last time he’d have fresh human blood. The last time he sank his fangs into somebody. The last life he ended. At least she’d deserved what he’d done. That had to count for something, right?

He could resist. He knew he could. Didn’t get as old as he was not being able to control your impulses. God, it was gonna be hard for a while. Old habits. But he had a goal. And quite a prize if he accomplished it. Just needed to stay focused, keep his mind occupied, and kill what he could when he could. It would be a hell of a lot easier with her by his side reminding him what was right and what would get him turned into a pile of dust. But that wasn’t an option, so he’d just have to make due. Stay out of the gray until he figured it out a little better.

***

  
  


_ These are my things. My clothes. My books. My hairbrush. My makeup. See? It’s on my side of the room. On my dresser, and my desk. All these things belong to Buffy. This top? Buffy’s top. This pen? Buffy’s pen.  _

She slowly looked around the dorm room again. Everything on this side had to be packed up. She wasn’t a student anymore, and it all belonged to her. So why didn’t any of it  _ feel  _ like hers? Why didn’t her life feel like hers? 

Pretending to be Normal Buffy was exhausting. How the hell had she done all this stuff before? Scooby meetings, and going to parties, and talking to other people. Remembering to eat. Slaying was about the only thing that came easily.

She wasn’t Normal Buffy. She was… just not. Her days had started to blur together in a haze of brain fog. She felt like she was just existing, floating through the time and watching it pass too quickly. Wake up, get ready for the day, eat whatever her mom put in front of her, and go do the things. Try to hear the words people said to her. Try to respond appropriately. Try, try, try. That was all she did, and she felt like she never succeeded. Like she never would again. Everything was muted and she felt like she was under water. Drowning. And nobody was reaching in to help her surface.

They didn’t even notice her flailing in the deep end.

She loaded her clothes into boxes absently, her mind drifting to Spike. Back to the first night she’d spent alone in… months. How she’d spent hours crying, until she felt sick to her stomach and her entire body hurt. Wondering if he was alright, if he’d found somewhere to sleep before the sun came up. Worrying that he’d gone out and done something stupid. How isolated she felt without him there. On some level, she’d realized how dependent on him she’d become. For the sense of safety. With him gone, everything was… harder. Waking up from nightmares, and finding only an empty room. No gentles strokes to soothe her. No soft humming. Just her, and the waves of panic as she returned to reality. Her own ragged breathing breaking the still of the night. Tears that never dried up. And that overwhelming feeling of hopelessness.

All she wanted to do was… sleep. Rest. Wake up when she was better. She wanted her head to be clear. She wanted to stop hurting. She wanted to feel again. She wanted to find enjoyment in being alive again. She wanted to be normal. She wanted to be herself.

But how could she be herself when it felt like part of her was missing?

She pushed down the tears that were threatening to well up again. She couldn’t cry in front of Willow. Couldn’t let her know how much she was struggling. She couldn’t be a burden. She was the strong one. The one that always carried everyone else. If she tried to explain the way she felt, her friends wouldn’t even understand. 

How could they? It would be pointless. Just more ‘tell us what you need’. Asking something of her that she wasn’t capable of doing. She didn’t know what she needed. She just wanted it to be better.

“Do you need help carrying things? I can do that. I can help.” Willow chirped, half enthusiastic, half overzealous. 

_ You really can’t. _

“No, I’ve got it, Wil. Besides, super strength is kind of my thing, right?” Buffy tried to mirror the chipperness of Willow, but it still came out sounding dead to her. It was a good enough impersonation to fool her friend though, and that was what counted.

“Yeah, that’s true. I just, you know. You’ve been gone for so long, Buffy. And we finally got you back. I’m sorry we didn’t listen to Spike.”

“What?”

“When he told us the Initiative had you? You didn't know..? He tried to get us to help, and we… Kind of thought he was lying, I guess.”

He’d told them. Before he’d been caught. And they’d just brushed it off… They’d left her in there all that time, knowing where she was. Knowing the kinds of things they did there. They left her in there. They left her. They  _ left her. _

“oh.”

“Buffy?”

That was concern in Willow’s voice, but it was far away. Buffy was far away. Floating high up, watching the scene in front of her play out. Watching her own body’s stiff movements as she grabbed her coat and headed for the door. Heard the words  _ I have to go  _ uttered from her own mouth. Watched as she took long strides down the hallway, and then out the door, down the steps. Watched her get into her mom’s car and whisper  _ take me home please _ . Watched the houses and trees and world pass by in a blur of color. Until the car pulled into her own driveway, and she took a deep breath. She was home. In a safe place, right?

“Are you alright, honey? Did something happen?”

“Fine. I’m fine.”

***

This was Normal Buffy’s room. But she was gone now. She wasn’t coming back. Normal Buffy had been abandoned, by the people who were supposed to be there for her. The people she’d depended on. Her friends. And now she was dead. But her body was still here, and there was still a person driving it. 

New Buffy.

She looked around the room, taking in all the Dead Buffy things.The posters on the walls.The stuffed animals. The butterfly decals. The mirror covered in brightly colored scarves that had never even been worn. 

None of it felt like her. None of it belonged. She didn't belong. But this room was supposed to be her safe space. The place she laid her head at night. The place she felt at home. She was supposed to belong. So the things that didn't… the things that belonged to Dead Buffy… They had to go.

She started with the superficial things first. New Kids on the Block became Teenage Crush in A Garbage Can. She tore them into tiny little crumpled up scraps and shoved them in with almost too much force. Then the little butterflies. She'd have to apologize to Joyce for ruining the paint job, and probably work to earn the money for a new color. Maybe a nice slate gray, if it was allowed. 

The brightly colored scarves all went into a pile on the floor. The only time she ever wore them was when she got bit by a vampire, and that wasn't exactly a frequent occurrence. Once a year, tops. And she wasn't planning on letting any vamps get that close to her. Except for maybe one specific vampire, and if he ever got his fangs in her, he'd make it count. She still didn't need a single scarf.

She liked most of the jewelry. That stuff could stay, she supposed, minus a few rings she was never going to wear.  _ It means you belong to somebody.  _ Well, New Buffy certainly didn't belong to anybody, and somehow the gesture of the ring seemed pretty insignificant in retrospect. What was a shiny trinket compared to risking your life? She tossed it into the garbage can, along with all the sentimental attachment that went with it. Spike's ring remained, bulky and oversized for her thin fingers. But she had plenty of chains she could hang it on, and that  _ did _ seem like something she'd like.

The wardrobe was the last thing to be gone through. She rifled through Dead Buffy's closet, yanking shirts off their hangers and tossing them on top of the scarves. All the bright and colorful and patterned and good God that goes with literally nothing. Why would anybody ever need so many clothes? She didn't need that jacket, since she'd only bought it to go with that one shirt that was buried underneath all the flowy tops. Or that one. Or-

Her fingers touched something familiar. Comforting.  _ Leather.  _ Her biker jacket. The nice heavy one that made it super hard for things to sink teeth and claws into her. The one with that nice inside pocket that was just the right size for a stake. The one that kept her safe. She needed that one. Her fingers trembled as she ran them down the sleeve, and she felt herself come back to reality just a bit.

God, she'd been so stupid. The only person who could understand what she was feeling, the only one who knew what she'd really gone through… The only one who had tried to help her that entire time. She'd pushed away. Because she'd been pretending to be somebody else. Normal Buffy would never have allowed herself to depend on Spike for anything. Never would have let him in. Never would have developed feelings for him.

But maybe…

She pulled the jacket from the closet and tossed it onto the bed. If she was going to make things right with him, she’d have to find him. And that meant getting dressed and going out to do something other than kill monsters all night.  _ This shirt… these pants. Yeah, this can work.  _

She wanted to shower first. If she did manage to find him, she didn't want to smell like day old funk. Vampires had that oh so powerful sense of smell. And yeah, he was probably used to the months of funk she still wasn't sure she'd managed to get rid of, but… something in her wanted to make an impression. New Buffy wanted him to know that she was all clean. She wanted him to know her outfit was picked out with him in mind. And she wasn't exactly sure what she was going to do to try to make things right with him, but… best to just be prepared, right?

As for actually finding him? That part might be a bit harder. She hadn't seen him out on her patrols all week, and she'd been through. Unless he was purposefully avoiding her, she'd almost have thought he'd left town completely. But he promised he wasn't going anywhere. He didn't seem like he'd been joking. 

Which led to the question: 

Wednesday night on the hellmouth, where does a vampire like him go to pass the time? There was Willy's, if he wanted to get his ass kicked while he was still healing. Doubtful he'd risk it, even if Willy  _ did  _ have human blood on tap. And she was really gonna have to talk to him about where he got that when she got a free afternoon. 

Not really a big college party night. Whether Spike was drinking or  _ drinking _ , it wouldn’t be on campus. He'd want to be somewhere crowded where he could blend in and be inconspicuous and enjoy the atmosphere, regardless of intentions. Some random ass crypt he'd holed up in and decided to lock the door behind himself. She hadn't seen him out on patrols all week, and she'd been  _ thorough _ . Which left…

The Bronze. Which would have people and alcohol any day of the week.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	25. Chapter 25

Turned out there wasn’t much to occupy time on the hellmouth when you were trying to be a white hat. Bully a butcher for some free blood, but he’d already done that once. Went down to Willy's to get in a fight, too. Nothing like a bit of violence before turning in for the night. But it wasn’t the kind of violence he really craved. The kind that led to a full stomach. He’d spent days trying to occupy his mind, keep it off of the blood lust and the Slayer. But with nothing to actually occupy it other than an empty crypt, he’d failed massively. He needed to get a telly in that crypt. Maybe a little fridge. Something more comfortable to sit on than a slab of stone, since it looked like he’d be doing an awful lot more of that. 

Ironic. Finally got his freedom back, and he was spending most of his time cooped up trying not to think about the Slayer or eating people. Which just so happened to be the only two things on his mind.

Yeah, he needed a telly. Maybe a few good books. And a few that weren’t all that good, but were at least entertaining.

He'd already cleaned up the dust and most of the cobwebs. Had to leave a few, of course, to give it character. Vampire, after all. Couldn't very well have a pristine clean crypt. Got lucky with the one he picked, though. He discovered a trap door, and a nice sized cavern underneath. Access to the sewers, which meant he could get just about anywhere around town during the day if he wanted to wander. Wouldn't be hard to hook into the water supply, either. Get a little makeshift shower put in.

Being undead was no reason to smell like it. 

He'd have to get down to the city dump some time soon. See what kind of stuff he could find that was usable and cleanable. That area downstairs had potential. Soon, but not tonight. He had other plans.

Make a pass by the Slayer's house all subtle like, make sure all was well and safe and no nasty little buggers were lurking about waiting to take one of his ladies out. Swing by the butcher and get a jar of blood to take the edge off before his final destination: The Bronze.

He could only take hiding out for so long. And he knew damn well he could control that urge to kill, when she was around. He hadn't offed the cop, after all. Or her friends, when they were all crowding her like they had. Tempting, sure. But he'd only done minimal damage both times. The real test was not doing it when she wasn't there. And he wasn't about to sit around in his crypt day and night, avoiding humanity entirely, no matter how nice he planned on making it. He was already getting antsy, and it'd only been a few days. Patience had never been one of his strong points.

So, he'd have to start slow. And it didn't get much slower than the middle of the week at that place. He'd just go, have a few beers, maybe some wings, and head back for the night. Wasn't going there to hunt, or watch people, or hide in the shadows. Just… Going out, to pass the time. Like a nice, non-evil vampire would do. Hell, he might even get in a game of pool and make some cash so he didn't have to pinch it off some wanker frat boy. He'd still get it from them, but least he'd earn it. That was probably considered to be on the not evil spectrum.

The thought occurred to him that… While he might not be going there to hunt, didn't mean other vamps wouldn't be. That place was like a buffet. People were too drunk to notice when you didn't breathe, or that your hands were cold when you led them off to a dark corner. How many times had he and Dru picked off a couple up on the balcony, and nobody else even noticed. Chances were, even on a slow night, he'd spot at least a couple of vamps sizing up their next meal. Their last. Might be able to do a bit of good after all, then. He shoved a stake into the breast pocket on his duster, just in case, marvelling at how well it fit. _Oh, right. Slayer's coat. Course it would fit._ _Right then._

  
  


***

He took the table behind the stairs. Small, secluded. And people didn’t linger. Plus it was a straight line to the door if he got overwhelmed and decided he needed to get out of there. Perfect spot, really. Would’ve been a great spot to hunt from too, but…  _ That’s not why you’re here. _

He had a beer. He had a plate of buffalo wings. Stomach full of pig’s blood. And he was doing just fine. Sure, he might’ve had his eye on a few  _ would be _ likely victims. People who were easy targets. But only for a moment, and he wasn’t targeting, and he hadn’t even got out of his seat to follow them out the back door when they went to smoke. Leg might’ve twitched, but he didn’t do it. 

So far, so good.

He lit a cigarette and let himself scan the crowd. He wasn’t doing the thing he wasn’t supposed to be doing. Just watching. Taking in the scenery, such as it was. Looking for other vampires that  _ were _ doing the thing. There were so many easy victims in that place. Frat boys starting their weekend early. Girls out for a night on the town with each other. Those that couldn’t hold their liquor. Then there were the ones who were predators in their own right. Looking for somebody to have a tryst with. Thinking about all the opportunities he’d be passing up for the rest of forever made his fangs itch. At least he had the wings to bite. Small consolation, in a room full of easily targeted people. 

The tendon in his jaw never stopped flexing, it seemed. Not when his fangs were threatening to come out of their own accord. The months-long starvation diet certainly hadn’t helped his chances of success. He knew that. And even though the pig’s blood  _ did _ sate the hunger, it did bugger all for the actual urge to kill. That would probably always be a part of him he’d have to fight. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the urge, and got a whiff of something familiar. Something mouthwatering. Something he wasn’t expecting.

_ Slayer. _

His eyes shot to the door and caught her coming in. The second his gaze found her, he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. Seemed like time slowed down, and all the other patrons in the place got sucked into some alternate dimension. All he could see was her. His Slayer. Buffy. It’d been days pining over her, and wondering if she was okay without him there to watch her back. Watching her stride in that way, full of confidence and power...

Bloody hell, was she gorgeous. He didn't know what was so different about her. Normally when she got all dolled up for a night out it was… Subtle makeup and lip gloss and functional but fashionable clothing. Tonight, she was anything but subtle. 

Blood red lips, full and very  _ very _ biteable. Thick liner under her eyes, and black shadow above. Hair done up in a messy-in-all-the-right-ways ponyhawk, little bits sticking out here and there framing her face. But god, that shirt. Lack thereof. Sheer little thing, with nothing underneath but a black bra. Left nothing to his imagination except what it would feel like to tear it off with his teeth. And God did he want to. Those black leather pants she had on weren’t leaving much to wonder either, and he  _ knew _ exactly what it felt like to have her wriggling around on his lap. Combat boots and leather jacket were a nice touch, too.

And there, draped around her neck on a chain, was his ring. The one he’d given to her an eternity ago, when he’d asked her to marry him. _Knew she still had it. Didn’t expect her to be advertising that though_. He knew what it meant, to wear a fella’s ring like that. The question was, did she?

He locked his eyes on her, following her movements as she went from the door to the bar and ordered a drink. She paid, made her way over to a booth in a dark corner, and slipped her leather jacket off before tossing it onto the cushioned bench.. The way she did it, letting it fall to her wrists before catching it… he’d never seen anything so erotic in his entire unlife. He stared at her, mesmerized by the undulations of her throat as she gulped down half of her drink.

His gaze never left her as she strode to the dance floor, each step she took both deliberate and sensual. Her arms went above her head as she began to move to the music, every roll of her hips perfectly fluid. Everything about her drew him in. He found himself standing, taking calculated steps, making his way slowly toward her. 

He remembered this dance well. Remembered watching her like this. Just like this. He’d been captivated then, too. Prowling in the shadows, working his way through the crowd, getting as close as he could without being noticed. He was prowling now, too, but with entirely different intentions. This was hunger of a different kind.

He stopped, just at the edge of the dance floor, keeping himself to the shadows. His hand reached out to grip a nearby pillar, either to steady himself or hold himself back. He wasn’t entirely sure which. 

He was there, in the dark, while she danced in the light. A swaying, undulating beacon of fire amid the seething mass of humans on the dance floor. He watched, mesmerized, her every move imprinting on his mind and heart.

After an eternity wrapped in a stolen moment of time, her arms fell to her sides as the last note of music faded and her movements stalled. She turned slowly toward him, raising her gaze to meet his through heavily lidded eyes. He had to take a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. The look she was giving him was so intense, absolutely glossed over with lust. She had the exact same hunger he did. He could feel it, even from a distance, coming off her in waves. It was tangible.

He caught her scent as she came closer and inhaled it deeply, and couldn’t help that his mouth was suddenly watering. He’d tasted hints of her before. Her skin, her mouth, her blood. But not… whatever this was. Heat. Passion. Arousal that was aggressive and predatory, rather than something that had crept up on her.

He couldn't tell if he was more turned on or terrified. Didn’t really matter though, did it? She wanted him, and who was he to deny her that? Probably couldn’t even if he wanted to.

She closed the last few feet of distance between them, and up close… He could tell something was off about her. Couldn’t quite put his finger on why, but… She was reminding him of Dru during one of her bad episodes. 

“Hello, cutie.” he breathed out, still trying to get his brain to process what was happening. Pretty difficult, when most of his blood was busy rushing in the opposite direction.

“Spike.”

She leaned into him, kissing along his jawline before sucking his bottom lip between her teeth. His brain might’ve forgotten how to function, but his body responded automatically. Flavor of Buffy was something he’d acquired a taste for the second it had touched his tongue, back when Willow had done that spell.

“Did I ever thank you?” she whispered against his ear, her voice honeyed.

_ That’s the terrifying bit, right there.  _

“Not that I can recall.”

Something was definitely wrong with her. This wasn’t the same girl who’d kicked him out a few days ago. The one who’d said she didn’t know what they were, and that she needed time to think and clear her head. Something had happened to her, and he was ready to tear someone's throat out over it. She was bad off enough without people making it worse. Probably one of her friends saying something stupid.

As much as he wanted to take her out back to the alley, he knew he couldn’t. He thought it was hard controlling the blood lust? Buffy lust was a hundred times worse. She was there, and on his lips, and against his body, and so damn warm. Could smell her arousal coming off of her, and knew she was ready for him already. And he couldn’t let himself do it.

“Can I thank you now?”

Her hands pressed against his chest, gently commanding him to go where she wanted him to, and he allowed her to guide him. Backward steps, until they reached her little booth in the dark corner, where he was almost certain they wouldn’t be disturbed. She’d chosen the perfect one. 

_ God, please don’t mess this up. You give in to her right now, she’s not gonna be happy about it in the morning. Takes more than a few days to get your head straight after what we went through, and she’s about three sheets aside from that. You’d be taking advantage. Black and white, Spike. Black and white.  _

She slid her hands up to his shoulders and pushed him down slowly, following him down and straddling his hips. Her fingers raked through his hair, loosening his curls while she dragged her nails along his scalp and caused the most exquisite kind of pain. If this was a glimpse to the kind of passion she had when she was herself… God, he was well and truly buggered.

She guided his hands to her hips, and he couldn’t resist caressing her ass. Leaning in close to him, sle slipped a hand between and fingered his belt buckle.  _ Oh, bollocks… _

“I was wrong to make you leave like that the other night.” She’d lowered her lips to his throat, tugged his hair to tilt his head back for better access before she planted a wet kiss just below his ear. “Tell me how to make it right, Spike.” she whispered, her breath so hot against his skin.

He had to stifle a moan at that. She was making it so hard. _So bloody hard_. It was like she knew every single button, and exactly how to press them, and the temptation to let her explore and press every single one as many times as she wanted was threatening to overcome him. He had to get some control, over himself or of her. 

Part of him… most of him… didn’t want to, but he couldn’t let it happen like this. This wasn’t where he got to have her for the first time, or how. She deserved a big soft bed, and candles, and lots of time to be properly satisfied.The metalic sound of his buckle being undone snapped his mind to the reality of the situation. She wasn’t going to stop unless he made her.

He stayed her hands and took several deep breaths. “Wait, love.”

His hands trembled against her forearms as he pushed her away gently, creating just enough distance that he was sure he could think enough to talk. Enough that she would hopefully take him seriously.

“Listen... It’s not that I’m not tempted. I am so bloody tempted. You’ve no idea… just how…” He closed his eyes, trying to reaffirm his resolve. 

Burning hot Slayer in his lap, practically begging him to take her somewhere remotely private to have his way with her, and he was having a bloody crisis of morality. For the greater good, he reminded himself. Do right by her now, and he’d have the chance to do it again. Do it right.

“I can’t let you do this.”

She pouted and sat back a bit more, adjusting her position and grinding against him in the process. “You… you don’t want me?”

“Ohh, no. I do. I really,  _ really… _ But you don’t want me. Not really. Think doing this will make me happy, and  _ God _ , would it. But this… it’s not just about me. Or you. No fun if we aren’t both equally in it, pet.” Well, maybe  _ some _ amount of fun, but the aftermath would pretty much make it a moot point.

She looked… So lost. Gone was that confident woman she’d been just a moment ago. She was so vulnerable. She’d come to him for comfort, thinking he’d be mad at her. That she’d need to make something up to him, like she’d owed him anything. Now that he’d turned that bit down, she didn’t know what to do. But he did. She’d come for comfort, and that was exactly what he’d give her. Just not in the way she’d been expecting.

_ Bloody gray areas. Full of eggshells to tiptoe on. _

"Let me give you what  _ you _ need, Buffy." 

She was in pain. Maybe not physical, but definitely emotional. That was something he could handle. He could make it better, for a little while. 

He pulled her close to him, wrapping his arms around her and holding her flush against his chest. She shuddered at the gesture, just enough that he could feel it, before winding her arms around his neck.  _ Knew it. Girl’s having a bleeding breakdown.  _ If his century with Dru had taught him nothing else, he knew how to take care of her. Knew how to soothe her, and bring her back to herself. He pulled back, his mouth seeking out hers. 

He’d give her what she needed. An escape.

Her lips were hot against his own, sharing their warmth. He resisted the impulse to devour her mouth, focusing instead on learning every surface of it. his tongue ran across her bottom lip before dipping inside for a taste. Her fingers twined in his hair before gripping it suddenly. His cock jumped at the pain, and he let out a moan. Her tongue caressed his own, trying new things. Spike couldn't imagine the great poof had spent much time on this, so he’d just have to make up for it. 

She nipped at his lip and pulled away, kissing a trail to his ear before drawing the lobe between her lips. Bloody hell, she didn’t need anybody to teach her anything. Her mouth moved lower, stopping on what would be the pulse point on a human to suck a bruise onto his skin. 

He was so helpless under her touch, but was trying desperately to resist the desire to let her go further. To let her do whatever she wanted to him.

“Buffy…”

Her name escaped him, spoken as a prayer. She shimmied her hips, and he was back in the same predicament all over again. She was overpowering, in more ways than one. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. For her. He had to control the both of them for her. Give her what she  _ needed _ instead of what they both wanted. He captured her hips with his hands, stilling their movement. Then he kissed her, giving her bottom lip a gentle nip with blunt, human teeth. 

“My rules, Slayer,” he growled. “Play time right now. To relax you. Give you what you need. Nothing more until you can take me home to your mum and ask me to your bed. We clear on that?”

She stared at him, wide eyed, as if she didn’t know what to do with what he’d just said. But she slowly nodded her head, accepting it. 

This, he could do. He kissed his way along her jaw, down to her throat, and gave another gentle bite. She gasped and tensed in his arm, a spasm rolling through her. Her head arched to the side to give him better access, and he took it.  _ That’s it, baby. _ He dragged the tip of his tongue slowly over his intended target, and felt another shudder go through her. She was so close... One of her hands came up to cradle the back of his head, gentle but firm, holding him in place.

He shifted, letting his fangs descend. She tensed in his arms, but didn’t pull away. Didn’t stake him. She was trusting him. 

“Tell me you want it, Slayer.”

She leaned in with a tiny whimper. Not good enough. Not for this. Plus, he wanted to hear her say it. Wanted her to tell him that she wanted his fangs in her, like this, in the most depraved and debauched way. Wanted her to beg him for it.

“ _ Tell _ me.” he growled.

“Please…”

He grazed her, just enough to draw blood. Just enough to get what he needed. Just enough to give  _ her _ what she needed. She relaxed almost immediately and leaned into him as it took effect on her. That first wave of euphoria. He drew his fangs back in and began to suck and lap in earnest at the tiny incision he’d made. A mark all his own. She clung to him, her nails biting into his scalp, but he didn’t care. He just hugged her tighter against his chest, and continued his ministrations.

“What the hell are you doing, Spike?”

Of course. Of all the most perfect moments for Xander Bloody Harris to show up,  _ this _ was the one he chose to interrupt. Spike’s eyes shot up to the boy, and found the witch standing next to him as well. Even better. Caught by her so called friends in the middle of a private moment. Not that Buffy seemed to mind, exactly. The euphoria was already settling over her, taking firm hold over the worries of her life. 

“I’ll see if I can find- Buffy?” 

_ Well, if that ain’t delicious. Didn’t even know what they were getting into, did they? Didn’t recognize her. _

Buffy sighed heavily and turned to face the Scoobies, but didn’t move from Spike’s lap. Didn’t take her fingers out of his hair. 

“Oh, look. It’s exactly who I  _ didn’t _ want to see.”

  
  



	26. Chapter 26

For being an evil soulless monster, Buffy was now thoroughly convinced that Spike's mouth came directly from heaven. The way it made her entire body tremble, the little shivers going down her spine, and the very warm feeling low in her stomach… Yeah, it had nothing to do with being a vampire, and everything to do with it being him. 

She vaguely remembered that Angel had caused some butterflies. Vaguely. Nothing like this. Nothing like the spasms that were rolling through her and building up to something explosive. Something she'd never had before.

And somehow, they were still fully clothed. She didn't know that was actually a thing that could happen with clothes on. Not that she couldn't feel every inch of him through the layers of fabric. Because she could. She really could. But she always sort of figured there was some kind of insertion required. 

It was a powerful, heady feeling, being on top like that, even though Spike was the one in control. He'd made that perfectly clear when he stopped her from getting into his pants and told her to behave herself. She wasn't supposed to be enjoying this as much as she was. Wasn't supposed to be the one getting all the pleasure from it. But Spike was firm. He'd made her give up control and trust him, and she'd never felt so free.

She was so used to giving, it had never occurred to her that a man would ever do the same for her. Weird concept, but she wasn't complaining. And it wasn't like he hadn't been taking care of her for months already. This was just… a new kind of care. One she hadn't allowed before, for whatever obviously stupid reason. 

She was so engrossed in the good feelings he was giving her, she almost missed the sound of crunching bones. Almost. She tensed up on instinct, but didn't even think about trying to pull away. His fangs were out, and it made her incredibly aware of herself, and of him. Her heart hammered against her chest, her blood pumping fast from the invigorating kissing. No doubt he could hear it, and he was barely inches from her throat. He was going to bite her.

But his body didn't match up with that. He wasn't sinking fangs into her without hesitation and draining her, like Angel had. He wasn't even holding her in any kind of aggressive way. His hands were on her thighs, gentle as could be. And if he was really intending to kill her, or even hurt her, he'd have done it by now. He wouldn't be waiting for her to react to it.

But she didn't know how to. She wasn't scared, exactly. It was… thrilling. And that was the scary part.

“Tell me you want it, Slayer.”

_ Oh… _

She froze for a moment, conflicting feelings roiling through her. He was a vampire. A vampire who wanted to bite her. There was no way she could trust him. Except… she really wanted to. He had asked. He was in control, but, somehow, she was also the one calling the shots. Yes or no. It was all up to her. Get up and leave, or…

She leaned into him with a whimper, finally understanding what he was offering. And God, yes, she wanted it. She wanted to  _ feel _ . She wanted to escape the never ending monotony of simply existing. 

“ _ Tell _ me.” he growled, and the vibrations of his voice sent a shiver through her.

Yes, she wanted it. She wanted him to bite her. Wanted him to make her float on clouds like he had before. Make her not care anymore. About anything but the feel of his tongue on her. Wanted it enough to beg him for it.

“Please…”

But he didn't bite. A tiny little pinch was all she felt. One of his fangs angled just so, just enough to pierce the skin. Moments later, that lovely feeling began to spread through her body. She clung to him, moaning and gasping with every flick of his tongue. His teeth were blunt again, she realized as they scraped over the tiny wound. He was so in control of himself, that even with fresh blood in his mouth he could rein himself in and revert to his human visage.

She was safe with him, even like this. There'd be no accidental near death experience caused by him. She let her eyes drift shut. Let him take her away. Up into the clouds where nothing mattered.

There was no evil badness to fight. No greater calling. No horrible memories to be pushed away every second. She was happy. Maybe not truly, but… It was a feeling. One that only Spike could give her. Something other than numbness.

And then, down below the clouds, back where they really were, familiar voices had interrupted, right in the middle of their moment together. Just as she'd been so close to that long sought but still never achieved climax. So threatening, so condescending. And they dragged Buffy back down to reality, right where she didn't want to be.

Xander and Willow. 

"-Buffy?" Willow asked, all kinds of surprised.

"Oh, look. Just who I  _ didn’t _ want to see."

And she really didn’t. Not after what she’d learned. The thought of them made her sick to her stomach. Their faces were just a painful reminder of her badly-placed trust that had extended her imprisonment. Because they were idiots, and didn’t jump in when they should have. The way she always had for them. 

"Say, Willow," Xander half stammered, "You didn't happen to do another whacky spell, did you?"

"Me ? What? No! I have nothing to do with this! This… time."

_ Ugh. Of course. I'm kissing Spike so it must be a spell.  _

"Is there a reason you two are still standing here? Kind of in the middle of something." 

She was beyond irritated. Which was sort of a good thing. Another emotion: anger. Check that off the list. But she'd gone from extreme high over to left field of bad mood in less than a minute, and it was entirely their fault. She'd tried direct right from the get go, and they still weren't getting the point that she wanted them to go away and let her get back to the happy making neck sucking.

Xander took a step forward, further invading her personal space. "He was feeding on you! Buffy!"

Oh, he  _ so _ was not. Not like he could have been, if he'd wanted to.

"Oh, that? No, that would be called a make out session. Something both of you are sorely lacking experience in. Why don't you go do that somewhere else? Somewhere not here?"

"Hey … Buffy, if you're going through something, you know we're here for you. We can talk it out. We can help you. You don't have to go to him just because-"

"Ohh , don't. You're here for me? Where have you been the last few months? Talking? Not making with the saving? And just because what? Huh? What was the reason you were going to give for me not going to Spike for comfort? Because he didn't have to ask if I was going through something."

She was well past irritated now.

"Buffy… look, we just want to help you." 

Rage. That's what it was. She'd gone looking for Spike for comfort, for friendship, for an escape. And he'd been more than happy and willing to give that to her. She wouldn't even need it if they'd listened to him in the first freaking place. And now they had the audacity to interrupt the first happy moment she'd had in  _ months,  _ and tell her that they wanted to  _ help _ . But, you know, only  _ if  _ she was going through something. Like they'd expected she'd come out of eleven weeks in Initiative custody and just be fine. Not only that, but they felt the need to judge her for going to Spike instead of them.

Maybe Dead Buffy would have kept quiet and accepted that kind of treatment. She might have even shoved herself off of Spike and faked realizing the error of her ways. Blamed it on the alcohol or something. Not New Buffy. She wasn't having it.

"You know what? I have the sudden need to hit something. Think I'm gonna leave before I hurt somebody."

She turned back to Spike and kissed him, bringing a hand up to caress his cheek.

"I'll see you around," she whispered, so only he could hear her. "Hopefully soon."

Without another glance at Willow and Xander, she pushed herself off of Spike's lap, grabbed her jacket, and headed for the door.

Outside, the air was crisp and sharply cool against her overheated skin. She wasn't sure which part had made her so hot; what she was doing with Spike, or the anger making her blood boil. But New Buffy had done well. She'd stood her ground, said what was on her mind. Things she hadn't done before, even when she really should have. And that was something she could be proud of. 

She'd made it halfway down the alley when the sound of boots hitting pavement caught her attention.

"Buffy!" 

Spike.

She waited for him to catch up to her, and when he did a moment later, there was an awkward pause between them. Not because of what they'd been doing a few minutes earlier, but… If years of watching romance movies had given her any expectations, he should have been pushing her against the bricks and kissing her in the rain right about now. Except there was no rain, and he didn't look like he was about to do any such thing. Even if she really wanted his mouth back on her.

"Just wanted to let you know, you ever need anything. Help slaying, comfort, somebody to talk to. Name it. I'm up in Restfield. Figured I'd stay close to home, you know. Just in case…"

_ Close to home. _ Something about those words struck her. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she was glad he was close by. 

"Thanks, Spike."

***

Patrolling was out of the question, with all the feel good saliva making her brain hazy. Probably not the best idea to go out and test how good her reflexes were when she kept getting lost in thought and daydreaming on her walk back home. That was dangerous enough as it was. Vamps were still out and about, after all. She was kind of surprised that Spike hadn't offered to go with her, but… He probably wanted to go work off the frustrations as much as she did. He was just more capable of it at the moment. 

So home it was.

And tomorrow she'd wake up and the world would be grey and muted again, and she'd be back to being a walking shell with no emotions. Back to pretending to be fine. Back to pushing away bad thoughts and worse memories.

She didn't want to think about it. And she didn't want to think about how long it would be before she'd have time alone with Spike again, so he could take everything away and make it all okay for a little while. The euphoria was still going strong, so she couldn't actually worry too much before the happy took over again, but the voice in the back of her mind kept piping up about it every few minutes. 

She was halfway home when she had a disturbing realization. She was being tailed. Her Slayer senses weren't picking it up, exactly. Not the way it did with vampires and demons. Even in her daze, she'd have noticed the telltale spine tingling that came with proximity to danger. Which meant whoever it was… Was probably human.

Her first thought was that the military was finally coming for her, which made her blood run cold as ice. She couldn't fight them all off on her own, even on her best day. Not that many of them. Not when they used tranquilizers and tasers. The thought of… she shuddered. She'd rather die.

_ A hulking figure stepped forward, baton raised, and brought it down. Spike raised his arm to block, and the sound of the impact made Buffy’s skin crawl. The bone was almost certainly broken, but he hadn’t uttered a sound. No screams of pain. Nothing. An instant later, a boot connected hard with his ribs, dropping him down to her level.  _

_ “No!” _

_ He was flat against the ground in front of her, blood pooling around his head. “Spike..?” She couldn’t help but lay her hand on him, to try to roll him over. “Spike?” _

_ The tranquilizer dart in her thigh barely registered as she took a step toward the closest thing wearing camo. She managed a few more wobbly legged paces before she slumped to the floor, barely conscious, but still aware. Two hands closed firmly on her ankles. She thrashed. She kicked. She twisted and fought as much as she could. The grunts of pain brought a sense of satisfaction, even as she was losing the battle to stay awake. More hands grabbed at her legs, effectively taking away her ability to cause any real damage. _

_ Spike. _

_ He was still awake. Close enough to touch, if she could just reach out for him. Something solid and familiar. Something to hold on to. She wanted him to know… His fingers brushed against hers as she passed, just before she fell into unconsciousness. Her name on his lips had been muffled, barely audible, but there. _

_ Buffy. _

No. She'd never let herself feel that helpless again. If they were coming for her, they'd have to kill her. She wasn't going back. She wasn't going to be their little pet project, or a guinea pig, or an experiment ever again. It didn't matter that she could barely focus, or that she was still recovering.

She was going to fight this time.

She changed course, heading down the closest alleyway. If she could funnel them, take them in in smaller groups, she had a shot. She looked for some kind of weapon, anything. Metal pipe, broken beer bottle, rocks. Even a trash can lid would work in a pinch. Luck wasn't on her side though. She had to have picked the absolute cleanest alley in all of Sunnydale.

Whoever it was, they were getting steadily closer. Then their footsteps just… Vanished. 

Buffy spun around, frantically searching for any sign of whoever it was. Nothing to hide behind, really, so where'd they go? She knew it wasn't paranoia. She wasn't imagining being followed. She wasn't. She wasn't going crazy. 

She sighed, trying to calm herself down. Even the feel good that Spike had given her wasn't enough to override that kind of panic. She turned slowly back around, scanning the rooftops for operatives.

A fist connected with her cheek, whipping her around and knocking her to the ground. When she looked up to see who the hell it was, she could barely believe her eyes.

Faith.

"Hey B! Gotta say, for being Miss High and Mighty, you sure are one hard chick to track down. I mean, I checked at your mom's place last week, and you weren't there. Checked the watcher's, your pals. And when I finally find you, what do I see? You're locking lips with someone other than your old lover boy. Gotta say, though,” she slowly licked her bottom lip, “this one seems like a better catch."

Buffy sprang to her feet and threw a punch of her own. Faith side stepped, countered with a lock to the back that had Buffy stumbling to keep her footing. She turned to face Faith again, trying to figure out what the hell she was going to do to win this fight.

"I like the new look, by the way. Trying to be the bad girl now? Caught the convo with your buddies, too. Not so tight these days, huh? You finally get tired of them following you around all the time? Or do they not like the new man as much as I do?"

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about." Buffy spat.

How dare she? Had to come back now, of all times. Throwing around threats was fine. Buffy could deal with that. But to have her eyes on Spike, just to be spiteful? And to make judgements, like she didn't have her own issues?

"Ooh, snappy comeback, girlfriend. That's all you got?"

"What do you want?"

"Funny you should ask. You know, I came back here to kill you, actually. You know, settle the score. But then I got a gift from an old friend, and… now I got bigger plans."

The fight was inevitable. Fine. They'd fight. The bigger plans though?  _ Great. Guess that makes Faith my new big bad, then.  _ Just another enemy in the long, never ending line of things trying to take her life.

"Awesome. This is what I get with my freedom. Judgment and death threats."

"Freedom from what?"

She was done with the idle talk. Faith didn't come back to chit chat, and Buffy wasn't in the mood to drag it out. She just wanted to kick her ass, call the cops, and get home.

"Let's get this over with." 

Faith smiled, then threw the first punch. They both dove into the fight, going all out from the start. Throwing flurries of punches and kicks and blocking and countering. They matched each other blow for blow, neither one gaining the upper hand for more than a moment before the other evened the field again.

As much as Buffy really hated Faith, this was kind of fun. Evenly matched. Both going all out, no holding back. Because even with vampires, Buffy never really had the chance to let go. They were never as strong as she was. Never had the right moves, or the right timing. The only one to even come close was Spike. But faith… Well, they could both go at it for hours if they really wanted to.

Faith threw a slower punch. One Buffy could easily block, and use the momentum to end the fight before she got too tired. She put a hand up, expecting to catch a fist, but Faith grabbed it instead. She was wearing some weird metal thing on her hand, and it let off a bright glow.

The air around her closed in, and she felt like she was trapped in a vortex, getting sucked in and spun around and all chopped up and reassembled. 

When she looked back up at Faith, she saw herself. Not like in a mirror, but… Her actual body. She was so stunned, she didn't react when her own fist connected with her jaw, snatched the thing off of… Wait. Faith's hand. Her hand. She was Faith. Faith was her.

"What the f-" 

Her head connected with concrete, and everything went black. 

**Author's Note:**

> As of now, these are all the chapters to be archived here at AO3. 
> 
> As they are completed, additional chapters can be found at westofthestorm.com
> 
> Once the story is finished and archived there, it will be added here as well.


End file.
